


Kandrew Week Prompts

by zen_fox



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon Timeline, Five Times, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-24 09:56:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13808781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zen_fox/pseuds/zen_fox
Summary: Six fics across three verses for AFTG Celebrations' Kandrew Week.Imagine—What if Neil had never joined Millport's Exy team? (Amused + Separation)What if Neil had run before the first match against the Ravens? (Spring + Rebirth)What if Kevin and Andrew had gotten together before Neil came to PSU? (Never Again + Tomorrow)(And one coda for all three.)





	1. INDEX

## What if Neil had never joined Millport's Exy team?

AKA the _Olympics AU_ , where Andrew and Kevin spend their years at PSU together before moving to the Pro Leagues as a couple.  

 

> ###  [Amused](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13808781/chapters/31833831)  _(day four)_
> 
> **Rated:** M  
>  **Wordcount:** 2382
> 
> _Five Times Andrew Made Kevin Laugh (And One Time Kevin Made Andrew Laugh)._
> 
> ###  **[Separation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13808781/chapters/31830420)**   _(day three)_
> 
> **Rated:** E  
>  **Wordcount:**  2511  
>    
>  _Hundreds of miles away from his boyfriend, Kevin is alone in a hotel room with nothing to do, and only a cell phone for company._
> 
> _That's really only going to end one way._  

  

## What if Kevin and Andrew got together in the year before Neil came to PSU?

Kevin has come to the Foxes on the tail of a vicious injury, but finds he can heal in more ways than one at Andrew's side.

  

> ###  [Never Again](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13808781/chapters/31751247)  _(day one)_
> 
> **Rated:** M  
>  **Wordcount:** _2955_  
>    
>  _Kevin's first heavy night at Columbia leads to an interesting morning after._
> 
> ###  [Tomorrow](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13808781/chapters/31857759)  _(day five)_
> 
> **Rated:** M  
>  **Wordcount:** 4324
> 
> _The night before the morning after: drunk Kevin is quite a challenge for Andrew, in more ways than one._

 

## What if Neil had run before the first match with the Ravens?

In a world where Neil never went on Kathy's show, never riled up Riko, and ran before his identity could be compromised, how do Kevin and Andrew find their way through life alone?  

  

> ###  [Spring](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13808781/chapters/31882137) _(day six)_
> 
> **Rated:**  T  
>  **Wordcount:**  1656
> 
> _Andrew and Kevin try to deal with the fallout of the final match of Kevin's final year._
> 
> ###  [Rebirth](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13808781/chapters/31781832)  _(day two)_
> 
> **Rated:** T  
>  **Wordcount:**  2684  
>  _  
> Kevin had to claw tooth and nail for ten years to build a career, so retirement is the worst thing he can imagine. It's more than the end of an era: it's the end of the only good thing in his life._
> 
> _...But some endings are also beginnings, if you only have someone to turn the page._

 

## Coda: [Acceptance](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13808781/chapters/31964955/) (day seven)

A selection of moments across all verses where Kevin and Andrew come to accept what they mean to each other.


	2. day 1: never again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin's first heavy night at Columbia leads to an interesting morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited to participate in [Kandrew Week](https://aftgcelebrations.tumblr.com/post/171279142228/its-here-kandrew-week-is-finally-upon-us), facilitated by the amazing folks at [AFTG Celebrations](https://aftgcelebrations.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Please do check them out and see if there are any weeks upcoming that you'd like to participate in! ❤️

Academically, Kevin understood hangovers. He really did: he understood the biology, and he'd heard other people talk about them. Freshman Ravens, in particular, seemed to fondly remember their high school keggers and sometimes expressed—in hushed whispers, of course— their surprise that college was somehow less fun than high school. Not that the aftermath sounded fun to Kevin: kids puking their guts up, pounding headaches, dizziness.

Of course, academic knowledge and personal experience are two entirely different things. 

As far as Kevin's concerned, waking up is painful at the best of times... But he's never regretted it quite _this_ much: the instant light hits his optic nerve, everything hurts. His head is throbbing, his body feels wrong, and there's an unpleasant sense of nausea which he has a horrible suspicion is only going to grow and grow. The beautiful, euphoric fuzziness of the night before is a distant memory now, and everything that has replaced it is _awful_. 

"The Kraken wakes, I see," says a mocking voice near his head. 

Kevin sits up instantly, and that causes another wave of regret (and nausea), but he can't help himself. The only person who ever gets this close to him when he's sleeping is Riko, and that— wasn't Riko.

It takes him a second to register Andrew, sitting in the chair next to the bed: he has one foot propped on his knee, and that terrible, medicated smile playing on his lips.

"What the fuck," Kevin manages, before he decides it's wiser to keep his mouth shut in case something other than words come out of it. It's probably the least pleased Kevin's ever been to see Andrew— but to be fair, he's not sure there's anyone he'd like to see more. Right now, he doesn't even want to see himself, he just wants to slide back into sleep until he feels better, but something in his body is telling him that's probably not going to happen, and something in Andrew's face is telling him it _definitely_ won't happen.

"Someone needed to make sure you wouldn't die in the night," Andrew says, leaning forward to inspect him. "Suddenly you don't look like you do on the magazine covers. _Poor Kevin_." 

His tone is so derisive that Kevin could cut himself on the edges of it if he cared to. 

He doesn't care to; all he cares to do is figure out where the hell he is, because this sure as hell isn't Abby's house, or his fa— Or _Coach's_ apartment.

"You're at our house in Columbia," Andrew supplies helpfully. "I convinced Nicky to give you his room for the night because your pathetic carcass was too heavy to drag up the stairs, and we thought you might choke to death if we left you on the couch."

Kevin nods at this explanation and wonders when the room is going to stop _swaying_. If it would stop, then perhaps his stomach would, too.

"Bathroom's the first door upstairs," Andrew says. "Better hurry, by the colour of your face. Tick tock, superstar." 

Kevin looks at him for a minute, then realises he's right— He puts one hand over his mouth and _bolts_.

It's really a toss-up to determine which is worse: the nausea, or the vomiting. 

Afterwards, he rinses out his mouth, then sits down on the tile floor and puts his forehead to his knees, hoping the throbbing in his head will recede if he stays there long enough. 

Andrew has other ideas; a few moments later, he lets himself in without so much as a knock, standing over Kevin with his arms crossed over his chest— perhaps, Kevin thinks, he's pleased to be the one looking down for a change.

"You really do look like death," he sighs, then nudges Kevin with his shoe. "Come downstairs. There's food."

The word alone is enough to make Kevin regret his entire life.

"I'm not hungry," he says, putting his head between his knees again. It blocks out the light, at least, though a minute later, Andrew's fingers are in his hair and he's tugging Kevin's head back to see his face. Kevin makes an undignified sound and slaps at his wrist, but Andrew catches his hand on the way there ( _keeper reflexes, fuck his keeper reflexes_ ) and tugs it out of the way.

"You need to eat," he says. "This is your first hangover, yes?" 

Kevin doesn't bother to dignify that with a response, but Andrew doesn't seem to need one.

"That's what I thought. You're like a little baby bird," he says, smiling. "...Or a big one with its wings clipped, perhaps." 

Kevin's reflexive wince at that shows Andrew that he's scored a point, and his smile widens even as his eyes grow colder. He tugs on Kevin's hair lightly, making his head ring. 

"You should listen to someone who has dealt with this before— from both sides. Come downstairs, and eat something."

Kevin can say nothing to that, so he keeps his mouth shut, but he gets to his feet as Andrew releases his hold on his hair. 

"What time is it?"

"Eleven-thirty," Andrew says, and Kevin stops so fast that he ends up feeling queasy again.

"It's _what_?"

"Closer to twelve now, probably. You were sitting miserably on the floor for quite a while."

Kevin is pretty sure he has never slept until eleven o'clock in his life— the days he'd spent at Coach's don't count; he'd been in a sort of fugue state, doped up on pills and booze to deal with the panic and the pain in his hand. Back then, he hadn't been sober long enough to feel this bad, and it wasn't like he'd been drinking for _fun_. It had been medicinal. 

Last night, though, that actually _had_ been—

"Oh my god," he says, putting one hand over his face, and Andrew gives a soft huff of laugher. 

"Sounds like the night is coming back to you."

He's not wrong. Every step on the stairs brings with it a fresh memory: conducting Nicky as he sang some terrible, terrible song; convincing Aaron to take a fourth shot, a fifth, and what he hopes was the sixth and final one; trying to talk Andrew into getting on the dance floor; making a bet that he could get a cherry into a glass on the other side of the table; losing the bet; trying to apologise to the irate boyfriend of the woman whose cleavage the cherry had landed in instead; Andrew having to scare the guy off; Kevin having to do a forfeit which involved...

Involved...

He can't remember. It's a blank. He remembers the words _You realise this means you will have to do the forfeit_ , and Andrew's sharp smile, and then cold air on his face, and then—

Nothing. 

Nothing at all. 

He muses on that while Andrew pours a bowl of cereal —it is, by some miracle, not coated in sugar— and adds milk before sliding it over in front of Kevin. It's a weirdly motherly gesture, which sets Kevin on edge considering the feelings he has for Andrew aren't exactly... _Familial_ , but he barely knows how to deal with that at the best of times, much less when he feels like death and can't even remember what he did last night, so he shoves the thought away, and pulls the bowl closer.

"Thanks," he says quietly, then digs in.

He feels both better and worse after it, though the mug of coffee Andrew sets beside it a few moments later goes some ways towards tipping the balance towards the former. Andrew pours a second cup for himself, then joins Kevin at the table.

"Where's everyone else?" Kevin asks eventually, as much to break the silence as out of actual interest. 

"Nicky took Aaron to visit some friends."

" _Friends_ ," Kevin says, because he's hungover, not stupid. 

Andrew gives a soft snort, looking entirely unfazed at being pulled up for lying.

"You caught me. I told them to get lost so I could speak with you alone."

"I think that may be less ominous if I could remember all of last night," Kevin says, and the smile vanishes from Andrew's face. 

"What _do_ you remember?" 

"Nicky singing." He opens with that, since it's the most innocent of the the things he remembers; predictably, Andrew's expression remains blank. "Doing shots with Aaron." It's a charitable way of putting it —charitable to himself, that is— but Andrew doesn't blink at that, either. "That whole debacle with the cherry." 

_Now_ Andrew looks interested. 

"And afterwards?"

"Afterwards the fight. The almost-fight. And then..."

Andrew raises a brow, expectant.

"...And then it's a blank," Kevin admits, rubbing the frown across his forehead like he could drill through it into his skull and tear out the headache with his bare hands. "You said I had to do the forfeit. And then I believe we went outside. And that's all."

"Typical," Andrew says, rolling his eyes above the rim of his own mug. 

"Are you going to tell me?"

He's not sure he wants to know, actually, but the lack of knowing is beginning to needle at him worse than the headache. Andrew seems to debate the merits of telling him, for a moment, and then shrugs.

"You smoked two cigarettes, and very nearly threw up on your shoes."

"Jesus. _Why_?"

"That was the forfeit," Andrew says, looking no less amused for it. "Now you can't complain about me smoking anymore. You've done it, too."

Kevin deadeyes him.

"You're serious."

"Oh, I'm always serious."

"Except when you're not."

A tiny smirk lifts the corner of Andrew's mouth as he nods.

"Except when I'm not."

There's still too much alcohol in Kevin's system to process any of this.

"I'm ever drinking again," he declares, and Andrew's laughter almost sounds genuine for once. 

" _That_ is what they all say."

" _Never again_ ," Kevin stresses, and Andrew tips his head back, considering him.

"Are you prepared to promise?"

Kevin purses his lips, thinking about what last night had been like— What it had felt like to be free of fear for the first time in years, to no longer feel the itching throb in his left hand, to laugh, and to be _normal_ , and to only remember Riko and Evermore dimly and through a woozy haze instead of with sharply and with every other breath.

"No," he confesses, and Andrew looks almost pleased at that. 

"Deluded. But not entirely a liar, at least," Andrew says, standing up and knocking back the rest of his coffee. He looks at Kevin for a long moment before turning on his heel, moving to put his mug in the sink. "Go and shower. You reek."

"Flatterer," Kevin says, and that surprises a little laugh out of Andrew, though he smothers it almost immediately.

Perhaps he's coming down.

It's still a good suggestion, though; Kevin feels like death, and perhaps the heat and steam would help.

It's only when he's in the shower (he puts the delay down to the alcohol) that he realises that he can't possibly borrow something to wear from Andrew; he'd end up looking like a (slightly) less green Incredible Hulk. Well. He'll just have to stay in a towel until he can wash and dry his clothes, or maybe Nicky has some sweats he can steal— they'll still look ridiculous, but at least they shouldn't rip at the seams. 

He emerges in his towel a few moments later to find Andrew sitting opposite the bathroom door, arms folded across his knees. 

Kevin seems to find him every time he turns around today, and apart from the initial shock when he woke up this morning, it's actually sort of... Nice. 

Comforting, in fact.

He doesn't want to think about what that might mean. 

(He's putting that down to the alcohol, too.) 

"Will you text Nicky and ask him if I can borrow something to wear?"

"No need," Andrew says, reaching for a small stack of clothing beside his hip, though his gaze stays firmly on Kevin.

On his chest.

On his bare chest.

Well. That's interesting. 

That gaze doesn't drop when Kevin stands— or rather, it dips just enough to catch on where the towel is folded around his waist, then loops back up again to meet his eyes. The smile is gone entirely now, replaced with something less manic... And perhaps something more genuine: sharp interest, and protectiveness. 

"Nicky's?" he asks, and Andrew shakes his head. He comes to stand just in front of Kevin at a distance that would be too close for comfort if Kevin hadn't started finding Andrew to be comforting. 

As he tips his head down to meet Andrew's gaze, it occurs to him that blaming the comfort on the booze was probably a mistake. More likely, it's due to Andrew putting him to bed last night when Kevin didn't know where his own face was, how he made him breakfast, that he arranged clothes for him when he'd finished showering.

It's because when Andrew had said _I'll protect you,_ he'd meant it. Even if that entailed protecting Kevin from himself. 

It's a thought that leaves Kevin's mouth dry and his temples pounding... And the booze has nothing to do with that, either. 

"I anticipated this day would come eventually," Andrew says, pushing the clothes against Kevin's chest, though he doesn't take his hands away when Kevin's come up to take the outfit from him. They just stand there and look at each other, both holding onto the same thing. 

Kevin's fingers are very nearly touching the backs of Andrew's hands. 

"If that's a pick-up line, you should know that I've heard them all before," Kevin says softly, but this time there is no answering laugh from Andrew— only dead eyes and a serious stare, and the penny drops. "Andrew, you skipped your meds again."

He means it to sound accusing —if Andrew gets caught, he's off the team; hell, he's in _jail_ , probably— but it comes out more like venerational. Andrew doesn't bother responding, only continues to look at him, gaze trained on Kevin's face. 

It's even sharper than his wit, but gives nothing away. 

"Andrew, _why_?"

"So I could do this," Andrew says, and then the clothes flutter to the floor as he reaches up to put his fingers behind Kevin's head and drag him down for a kiss. 

It's harsh from the first, but not quite brutal, not like Kevin knows Andrew could be. It's just _intense_ , and overwhelming. Kevin makes a soft noise into Andrew's mouth and then he's kissing back, licking his way into Andrew's mouth with equal fervour. 

"Andrew," he breathes, and Andrew pulls back— Just a little, but it's enough to have Kevin reaching for him, though again: Andrew gets there before he can connect. 

"Kevin," he says, low and measured, but his eyes are full of fire, and Kevin can see the shine of their kiss on his lip, and he realises that Andrew isn't as unaffected as he sometimes pretends to be. 

He still has one hand around Kevin's wrist, his grip tight and warm. It makes Kevin consider how it might feel on other parts of his person, though he's trying _so desperately_ not to think about that, not until he figures out where Andrew's intending to go with this. 

"Is that the extent of the _this_ you were planning on doing?" 

"That depends," Andrew says, and Kevin's gaze finally lifts from his mouth, returning back to his eyes again. 

"On what?"

"On what you want to do."

What Kevin wants to do is to kiss him again, so he does.

He can't help himself; it's the most natural answer in the world to that non-question, a reflex that feels too right to ignore. This time, however, he is careful to keep his hands to himself, fists tightly curled into the fabric of the towel that's wrapped around him.

"I want everything," he breathes, in between kisses. 

"You always do," Andrew says, but he lets go of Kevin's wrists to knot fingers into his hair, and the implied trust of it makes Kevin's stomach clench. 

"Right now it's just everything involving you," Kevin says gently, and Andrew growls against his mouth. 

"Shut up," he says, kissing him again. "Just shut up—"

Kevin laughs against his lips, and Andrew pushes at his chest until he's backing up the hall towards a bedroom. They stop again when Kevin's shoulders hit it, and continue kissing for a little while before it occurs to Kevin that he can grope behind himself and open the door. 

They almost fall through it; Kevin catches Andrew by the shoulders to break his fall, and Andrew looks up at him with an unreadable expression before herding Kevin onto the bed.

They don't quite get to _everything_ , but what Andrew lacks in pick-up lines, he makes up for in other areas. 

He leaves Kevin's hands on his shoulders the entire time, so when he disappears abruptly afterwards, that's the part Kevin chooses to focus on— how warm Andrew was under his hands, around him, against him, and how his eyes had looked like molten gold in the low afternoon light. 

They're good memories, and Kevin relaxes into them and the bed once he's alone. Just like the booze, this is enough to push all his demons away and leave a pleasant haze over everything... But he thinks perhaps with this, the hangover won't be quite so painful. 

After everything, it comes as no surprise that he falls asleep.

...And this time, it comes as no surprise to wake up and find Andrew waiting for him, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drugged Andrew is a _trip_ to write. Chatty. Contractions. Lies. 
> 
> I'm living, guys.


	3. day 2: rebirth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a world where Neil Josten disappeared before the first Foxes-Ravens game, where Andrew Minyard never went Pro, and where Kevin had to claw tooth and nail to rebuild his career, retirement is the worst thing he can imagine. It's more than the end of an era: it's the end of the only good thing in his life.
> 
> ...But some endings are also beginnings, if you only have someone to turn the page.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been pondering for a while about what would have happened if Neil hadn't gone to Kathy's show and riled up Riko, and if he'd run before their match against the Ravens. How would Andrew and Kevin have fared in his absence?
> 
> There is a canon projection [for what would have happened](http://korakos.tumblr.com/post/134655429892/what-would-andrew-feeldo-if-neil-chose-dan-and) without Neil in Andrew's life, but as you guys know: I always lean Kandrew when I can. When I read [what she said recently](https://twitter.com/norasakavic/status/966815803432615936) about Kevin and his "forced retirement", the two somehow combined into this, and just wouldn't get out of my head.

 

Three days after Kevin's official "retirement" from professional Exy, there's a knock on his front door.

Well. A _knock_ perhaps isn't the right word.

A knock is a polite entreaty, a request to be granted entrance. This isn't that. It's an insistent hammering that asks little, and demands plenty.

...Admittedly, that might have something to do with the fact that Kevin has been ignoring it for five minutes, much to Troy's displeasure; he's too well trained to bark, but he's positioned himself a few feet from the door with his hackles raised, looking from the door to Kevin in vague disbelief that he hasn't seen fit to attend to it yet.

He has a point, and the noise doesn't seem to be stopping, so eventually Kevin unsticks himself from the couch and pads to the entranceway, looking blearily though the peep hole. All he sees is a flash of blond hair before the door vibrates with another burst of rapid-fire hammering, making Kevin jump back. If gate security has let another reporter back here, Kevin will personally make sure that guy is fired— isn't this week hellish enough? Is he actually going to have to lose the comfort and safety of his _home_ on top of everything else?

"I am giving no further interviews at this time," he grinds out. "I suggest you leave, before I call the police and have you removed."

"You can try," a voice says, and it's so familiar that the bottom falls out of Kevin's stomach, and it feels like the floor has disappeared from under his feet.

He has the door open in less than two seconds just to make sure he's not dreaming, and in fact he is not: standing in front of him, with a bored look on his face that's completely at odds with how furiously he'd been hammering, is... Andrew Minyard.

"Andrew," he says, because he doesn't know what the hell else to say.

Troy whines at his side and plasters himself to Kevin's leg, but right now Kevin can't look anywhere except at Andrew.

"Kevin," Andrew says simply, looking him up and down, gaze catching on the dog before he steps inside and goes straight to the terrace doors in the living room. He throws them open, hot summer air filling up the room before Kevin can even get the front door closed in all of his stupefied shock.

"Somehow, I do not think you can blame the smell in here on the mutt," Andrew says.

"He's a pedigree," Kevin says, before he can help himself.

Andrew's gaze drags away from the view to turn and survey what he can see of the house, which is in a fairly sorry state: there are empty bottles on most of the flat surfaces, the boxes from last night's dinner (Chinese takeout) is still on the kitchen counter, and there's a pile of unopened mail by the door.

"That makes one of you."

Jesus. It's like being back at Palmetto again— and just like being back at Palmetto again, Kevin's throat is itching for a drink. There's at least one bottle of vodka in the freezer still. Maybe two.

Judging from his expression, he doesn't think Andrew would appreciate that fact, even if Kevin offered to share.

"What are you doing here?"

Andrew makes a low sound of consideration.

"I have nowhere better to be. And you have no-one better to be here."

He says it like it's obvious, like it's simple, like Kevin shouldn't even have needed to ask, but Kevin _does_ need to ask— and there are a million more things he needs to ask, besides.

The questions vie for pride of place on his tongue, and in the end what comes out isn't a question at all.

"You said we were done when I signed my contract."

He doesn't sound _whiny_ , at least, but there's no getting away from the hurt behind the words, and Andrew seems to weigh them for a long time before he responds.

"I had promised you that I would protect you," he says, slowly. 

"Andrew, you did. I wouldn't never have— I wouldn't be here now if not for you. You kept Riko at arm's length until I could cut a deal with the Master. You were there when I told my father the truth. You kept me on track until I graduated and got to a real team. You did everything you said you would."

 _And I let you down_ goes unspoken at the end of it— Unspoken, but perhaps not unheard; Andrew's gaze sharpens, but he does not look away.

"It would seem," he says quietly, "That there was one danger which I overlooked."

Kevin gives a soft huff of bitter laughter at that.

"This isn't your fault, Andrew. Retirement was always coming, one way or another."

"I did not mean the end of your sad relationship with that ridiculous game. I meant yourself."

"Andrew—" Kevin starts, but Andrew ignores it as if he never spoke.

It really is like being back at PSU.

"The greatest threat to you has never been Riko, or the rest of his miserable family. It isn't even injury or 'voluntary retirement'." 

He even makes the little air-quotes with his fingers, because they might not have seen one another for ten years, but there is probably nobody on this planet who knows Kevin better. It's a fact that Kevin had once found comforting, but which now seems grotesque: something that's somehow shameful to them both.

...But of course, Andrew ignores that, too. He crosses the distance between them and comes to stand in front of Kevin, looking up at him as though no time has passed at all, like he might have seen him a week ago, or yesterday, or this morning. It's astonishing, how quickly the old tension builds again once they're in the same room and all their distractions have been stripped away: their teammates, their school, their _game_.

There is no missing the feel of it in the air between them, but no clue as to how to deal with it, either.

Kevin has no idea who he is without Exy; expecting him to know who Andrew is, or how to deal with him, seems entirely too much, but Andrew is real and here, something Kevin is intimately reminded of as he reaches up and taps two fingers to Kevin's temple.

"The greatest threat to you has always been in _here_."

Troy issues a low growl of warning when Andrew's fingers make contact with Kevin's skin, though Andrew ignores him completely (which is slightly miraculous, considering that he's as tall as Andrew's waist). Kevin reaches down to stroke him, and he settles a little, but Kevin himself feels sparks where Andrew's fingers had pressed against his skin, and he doesn't think there is a thing in the world that could calm him down.

"You might not have entirely made good on your promise, but I did not either. I protected you from external threats, but not from this." He taps his fingers again, and Kevin can feel the impact all the way down to his tired bones. "Not from you."

"I was supposed to give you something worth living for," Kevin says quietly, and Andrew lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug.

"I am alive, am I not?"

"You feel pretty solid to me."

In fact, Andrew feels like the only solid thing in the world right now; for months, Kevin's life has been shifting sands— both underneath his feet, and slipping through the hourglass behind his back. This, him, is a very welcome change.

"And you are still alive," Andrew says, and Kevin doesn't try to argue the point.

"So... The ball is still in play— Is that what you're trying to say?"

"The day I use an Exy metaphor to express myself is the day you will _definitely_ fail in your side of this deal," Andrew says, but there's no real heat in it, no admonishment; the venom with which he used to talk about the game passed, presumably disappearing at the same time as Kevin's career.

Of those changes, only one is welcome.

"But that is what you mean," Kevin says, narrowing his eyes a little. "You mean we're not done."

"Yes," Andrew says, it's only then that he takes his hand away from Kevin's face, and Kevin misses the contact immediately. "That is what I mean."

Kevin might not know who he is without Exy, but apparently he does know how to deal with Andrew, because his answer is reflexive, immediate—

" _Yes_."

"Just like that? No limitations, no questions, no _demands_? My, my, Kevin Day. Perhaps the years have changed you after all."

"I have nothing left to want but what you're offering me," Kevin says softly.

"No grand ambitions for what you will do next?" Andrew asks, but there's a strained quality to his voice now, a rare tell that he's invested in the answer to this question.

"Not a goddamn clue. I— Have nothing planned." He swallows, looking away and studying the floor instead. "There are so many things I _could_ do that I don't know where to start, because I don't want to do any of them. I just want to go back next season and _play_."

Since that's no longer an option, all that's left to him is... _This_.

But.

It's more appealing than any of the other possibilities: somehow the prospect of facing the future —whatever it turns out to involve— is less terrifying if Andrew is at his side: more familiar, and more desirable. It feels like something that could be good, maybe, though even _thinking_ that feels wrong, like the prospect of wanting something else is some kind of heresy.

Maybe the conflict shows on his face, or maybe the words alone are enough, but Andrew sighs heavily.

"Pathetic." His voice is flat and unimpressed, but the warning has gone out of it now; whatever he was afraid of, that wasn't it. "Although it should come as no surprise. Assuming no miracles intervene to return you to your beloved court, perhaps a change of scenery would help."

"I'm not going back with you to Columbia," Kevin says, and Andrew raises a brow.

"I did not think you knew where I was."

"Do you honestly think I don't talk to my father, or that I didn't keep an eye on you? I've always known. Where you are, and how you are. I couldn't not."

"You never did anything about it."

"Neither did you," Kevin says, and Andrew smiles a small, cold little smile.

"No demands, and he has grown a spine to boot...? The years _have_ been kind."

"No," Kevin says sharply. "They haven't. That's why I needed it. But I'd rather have you; you were always better at it."

Andrew considers that for a while, and then steps back.

"I was not thinking of Columbia anyway," he says. "I have handed in my notice, after all."

The surprise of it catches Kevin off-guard, but he pushes past it pretty quickly.

" _Good_." He folds his arms across his chest just from the thought of it. "You should never have been working in that—"

Andrew reaches up to put a finger across his lips, and Kevin shuts up immediately.

Troy does the opposite; he barks lously, and Andrew finally looks down at him.

"I have never even seen a dog like that before."

"Do you spend a lot of time looking at dogs?"

The black look Kevin gets in response is answer enough.

"It's a new breed," Kevin says eventually. "Or it will be; they're working on it. Selectively bred Shepherds crossed with low-content wolf-dogs."

"And I am sure you could tell me their entire history," Andrew says. His expression is still as dead as ever, but there is something very nearly teasing about his tone.

"For generations," Kevin says, and almost wishes Andrew would let him tell it; it would be easier than talking about... About this, them, any of it.

He wants this, but he still doesn't know how to navigate it, and he is waiting on Andrew to show him the way.

"Still a snob and a bore, at least," Andrew sighs, then crouches enough that he's eye-level with the dog. "Perhaps there is something reassuring in the fact that not _all_ things change."

They're locked in a staring contest for a little while, but eventually Andrew wins; Troy makes a soft sound and looks away.

"You shouldn't try to stare a dog down," Kevin tells him. "They don't think it's dominant; they just think you're being rude."

"It is better he become used to that sooner rather than later," Andrew says, and buries both hands in the dog's fur, scratching behind his ears.

Something in Kevin's chest tightens and tightens as Troy thumps his tail against the floor and leans into it. There's something about that picture which makes him feel— Good.

He actually feels _good_ ; a temporary thing, he's sure, but it's better than nothing.

"It might take him a while to acclimate," Kevin says.

He doesn't mean the dog, and Andrew knows he doesn't mean the dog.

"He will learn to cope."

Kevin nods at that, throat suddenly dry, but to his surprise, it's not thirst so much as it is emotion.

He can't remember the last time he felt one that wasn't anger or despair.

He swallows around it, but doesn't try to push it down. It's not, he thinks, entirely a bad feeling.

"So," he manages eventually, "If not Columbia, then where?"

"Ireland," Andrew says, like it's the most obvious answer in the world. "That is where all of this started. It is about time you return."

Kevin considers that for a little while. He can't face his father right now —every time they talk, he senses a terrible expectation that Kevin should know what he wants now, that he should be in some way more decided— but perhaps the ghost of his mother will be easier to live with for a little while.

"Yeah," he says. "Okay."

On the floor, Troy rolls over under Andrew's affections, showing his belly and stretching out in complete delight. Kevin gives a soft huff of annoyed amusement.

"You'll just give it up for anyone, won't you?"

"Maybe he knows what's good for him."

"Not always," Kevin says, and again: he doesn't really mean the dog. "Not always. But sometimes he can recognise a good thing."

Andrew slowly looks up from the dog to study Kevin, eyes dark and inscrutable.

"Sometimes. And sometimes it takes a while for that to happen."

"Sometimes," Kevin agrees. "But maybe he can learn to do better."

"Are you trying to teach an old dog new tricks?"

"He's only a puppy, really," Kevin says, and there's a slight flicker at the corner of Andrew's mouth that could nearly pass as a smile.

"He certainly makes the expected mess."

Kevin gives a little snort at that and looks around, scratching the back of his neck.

"Yeah, well. Things maybe got a little out of hand around here lately."

Andrew doesn't dignify that with a response, only patting Troy's flank before standing up.

"Then you can start cleaning while I get my bags out of the car."

"Do I want to know how you managed to get past security?" Kevin asks, and this time Andrew _does_ smile: all teeth and malice, and something clicks into place in Kevin's heart.

"No," he says, and disappears out the door.

Troy gives a quiet whine as soon as it shuts behind him, and Kevin strokes along his neck.

"I know. He's coming back, though. He's coming back."

He doesn't just mean Andrew.

Unlike Andrew, Troy doesn't quite get it, but he wags his tail when Kevin pets him, and licks across the back of his hand, and that's very nearly as good.

"He's coming back," he whispers again, holding the truth of it close to his heart and feeling lighter than he has in months. "He's coming back."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the curious— Kevin's dog looks like [this](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/dd/06/5c/dd065c6af5d67f4ce7aba218bd38c082.jpg). Number of dogs I can currently keep? Zero. Number of dogs I would currently love to have? Infinite. _All the dogs, please._ Kevin is living the dream here.
> 
> ...And where is Neil through all of this, you might ask?
> 
> Who knows.
> 
> (But... I mean. I guess it's possible that Andrew and Kevin could run into a certain N. Hatford on their trip, considering where they're going? Just a thought.)   


	4. day 3: separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hundreds of miles away from his boyfriend, Kevin is alone in a hotel room with nothing to do, and only a cell phone for company. 
> 
> That's really only going to end one way.
> 
>  
> 
> **THIS CHAPTER IS RATED E.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this being late; there's a blizzard here, and while I did have food and power and all that jazz, the sight of snow sends me into hibernation mode and I pretty much just slept for twenty hours, woke up long enough to eat some toast, and went back to sleep for another twenty. Today's prompt is 80% written, so I hope to get that up today also, but I can't give any guarantees because endings are the hardest things for me.

Kevin has three hours to kill and an empty hotel room to do it in— on any other day, he would hit the gym, but he doesn't want to over-exert himself with a game coming up tonight. He could do some research on his computer, but he thinks probably the smartest idea is just to relax for a little while.

Maybe take a nap.

...So of course he's too wired to sleep; it's an important game, and every time he closes his eyes, all he can hear is the Coach's voice saying, _This game will make or break the season for us_ — as if he didn't already fucking _know_ that. He growls, sits up, and reaches for his phone.

It only rings twice before Andrew picks up.

"Kevin," he says quietly, voice as flat as ever, but just the sound of his name on Andrew's lips is enough to restore a little calm to Kevin's irritated nerves, and he drops back onto the bed again.

"I have three hours with nothing to do in this damn hotel," Kevin says, and Andrew scoffs.

"You called me for this?"

"I called you because I miss you," Kevin says, and Andrew gives a soft huff.

"It has been four days. If you miss me already, that makes you an addict."

"You say that like this is something I didn't know, or would object to. And anyway, I think you're a much better addiction than anything else."

"Even Exy?" Andrew asks, and Kevin rolls his eyes.

"That's not an addiction; that's a career. They pay me, you realise."

" _Mm_ ," Andrew says, profoundly unimpressed. "You would still struggle to go without it."

"But I don't have to go without it," Kevin says, then takes a breath and adds— "And I don't have to go without you, either."

There's silence on the other end of the line while Andrew thinks about that.

"No," he says eventually. "You do not."

Kevin relaxes a little at that— It's been years, and he knows he has a place in Andrew's heart, but it's so damn hard like this with Andrew still at PSU and Kevin out in here in the Pro leagues alone. Addiction or not, Kevin misses him painfully, especially before a game. Three years at college together left him entirely accustomed to Andrew's reassuring, solid presence, and he had come to rely on it to keep his nerves in check and distract him when he was in danger of over-thinking.

"Where are you?"

"In in the dorm," Andrew says, and then adds: "Hold on."

Kevin holds obediently while he hears Andrew stow the phone in his pocket and, by the sound of things, head out of his room, then the suite, and then jog upstairs.

"I am on the roof now," he says, after what sounds like the door banging behind him.

"Did you want privacy?" Kevin teases.

"I wanted a cigarette," Andrew says, which is enough of a non-answer that Kevin knows he scored a hit with that one. It sounds like Andrew's telling the truth just the same, though, because this is followed by the tell-tale sound of a lighter snapping open, and a long intake of breath that Kevin doesn't try to interrupt.

"And now I have one." Andrew says; there's a pause, another inhale, and then— "What is it that _you_ want?"

"You," Kevin says, because it's the first answer that comes to mind... And the truest one, too.

"And yet I am here, and you are there."

"What if you were here with me?" Kevin asks, and Andrew sighs, contemplating.

"Is this what you called me up for?"

"Is this what you went up on the roof for?"

The sound Andrew makes is so heavy with annoyance that Kevin can't help but smile.

"I hate you," he says, and Kevin sighs.

"Yeah, I know. So tell me what you'd do to me if you were here."

There's another pause while Andrew continues to smoke, and Kevin doesn't push, just lets him think about it, feeling every mile between them and wishing he could see his face.

"You are on the bed already, aren't you?"

"I was going to try to take a nap."

"You do not sound very sleepy to me."

Kevin shuts his eyes and draws a deep breath.

"I'm too stressed to sleep. This is a big game, and it's weird playing without you here."

"Idiot," Andrew mutters, and then, a moment later: "Strip."

"Everything?"

"Everything," he agrees, and Kevin doesn't bother considering it before tugging his t-shirt over his head and digging his bare shoulders into the bed so he can lift his hips and peel off his jeans.

He dutifully strips everything off, right down to his underwear, oddly feeling more exposed because Andrew isn't there to look at him. It makes no sense, but there's something comforting about not being alone, and it's even more reassuring when the person standing between him and isolation is Andrew.

He chews on his lip for a second, then kicks off his briefs, too.

"Done," he says, and Andrew hums.

"Close your eyes, Kevin."

Kevin does, and immediately feels better for it, clutching the phone tightly against his ear. It's not enough to completely convince him that Andrew's really there, that they're not really apart, but it helps, all of it helps: building their connection right back up, and making him feel like he has an anchor again.

"Spread and let me see you," Andrew says, and in the rush Kevin feels at that, it's hard to pinpoint any one thing: there's love and relief and arousal and gratitude and _need_ , all mixed up together in one giant tidal wave that crashes through him.

"Fuck," he says quietly, and Andrew makes a low sound of something that might be approval.

"Is that what you want?"

"I'd give just about anything to have you fuck me right now," Kevin says, and the hitch in Andrew's breath makes him shiver.

"Tell me how."

"Fingers first," Kevin says, and his own fingers twitch because he's hard now, and not touching himself is an effort... But he won't— he can't. Not until Andrew tells him to. "Your mouth on my cock, two fingers stretching me open, your other hand digging bruises into my thigh. I— I still have the ones from Monday," he adds, and Andrew makes another quiet sound that rolls out of the phone and all along Kevin's nerves. "Andrew, god. Can I touch them?"

"Yes," Andrew says, and the rough note in his voice makes Kevin's skin hum.

He runs his palm up the inside of his thigh, pressing his fingers into the fading bruise there, remembering— Andrew leaning over him, inside him, gripping him tightly and slowly driving him mad.

" _Fuck_ ," he says quietly, stomach clenching with need. "Andrew— I want— Can I touch myself?"

"I thought you were already," Andrew says, and Kevin gives a frustrated whine in response.

" _Andrew_."

"You can touch yourself," he sighs, after a moment's pause. "Don't come until I tell you to."

Kevin immediately curls his fingers around the base of his cock, and even the fact of it eases some of the pressure.

"What are _you_ doing?" he asks, emboldened by his own touch and the harsh sound of Andrew's breathing in his ear.

"Thinking about fucking you," Andrew says, and Kevin lets out a tiny moan.

"God, I can't wait to see you again," he says, knowing it'll be at least another week until it happens— he can't go back to Palmetto every weekend, much as he'd like to, and the distance is killing him. "I miss you so much. I miss your hands and your mouth and the way you feel in me. I miss the way you sound when you let me touch you. I miss you waking me up and I miss the way your skin tastes and I miss the weight of your body over me."

He strokes himself slowly as he speaks, tightening his fingers under the head of his cock and wedging the phone between his shoulder and his ear so he can dig his fingers into the bruises on his thigh at the same time.

"Addicted," Andrew points out, but his voice is too low, too close to a growl for Kevin not to know he's every bit as hooked as Kevin is.

"Desperately," Kevin says, and braces his feet on the bed so he can fuck into his own hand a little. "I wish you were here watching me."

"If I were there, I would not be just watching," Andrew says, and Kevin _groans_ , cock twitching in his hand.

"Tell me."

It's half an order and half a plea, though Andrew doesn't seem mind either one right now.

"I would spread you out on your back just like you are now, and I would bite those bruises back into your thigh," he says, and Kevin clenches his eyes shut, conjuring the sensation.

His hand goes to his thigh and pinches; it's not quite the same as the press of his teeth, but it's close enough to make him shiver.

"I would press your hips into the bed and suck you until you were shaking," he continues, voice low and breathless.

It's so easy for Kevin to imagine him with his hand on his cock as he speaks, to remember the first time he'd ever seen Andrew touch himself— how he'd been both withdrawn but also full of bravado, how beautiful he'd looked, and how he'd shuddered when Kevin had run his hands through his hair... Kevin can't stop thinking about it— That, and how every time after then, he'd been just a little more open, a little less distant, until the night he'd crawled up over Kevin's stomach and jerked himself until he spilled on Kevin's chest.

He can perfectly remember the way it felt, and the way Andrew's pupils had blown when Kevin ran his fingers through the mess and then sucked them clean.

The memory makes him sink his teeth into his lip, speeding up his strokes a little and rubbing his thumb back and forth over the head of his cock. He skirts his fingers down over his balls and along the skin behind them, but doesn't try to fuck himself with them; he could do without any lingering soreness this close to a game, but if Andrew were really here... If Andrew were really here, there's nothing Kevin wouldn't let him do: he'd carry the ache and the knowledge he brought it on himself just for the chance to feel him now.

"I would look at how wrecked and desperate you were, just from that," Andrew continues, and he's right— Kevin's wrecked and desperate just from _thinking_ about it. He'd blush if he had any shame left, but he doesn't have the capacity for it right now; he just wants this, wants him, wants more. "Then I would sit on your hips and take us both in my hand," he adds, and Kevin groans.

" _Andrew_." He can almost feel the press of Andrew's cock against his, the tight grip of his hand. "Andrew, fuck. I love that, I love feeling you, I love the way you touch me."

"I know," Andrew says, and somehow that gets Kevin more than anything else.

The fact that Andrew believes him, trusts him, wants to be wanted... The sound Kevin makes in response is too needy to be anything but on edge.

"Do you need to come, Kevin?" Andrew asks, and there's a purr in his voice now: confident, knowing, certain, and it makes Kevin's toes curl.

"Yes," Kevin breathes, and every word that rolls out of him now is accompanied by short jerks of his hand. "Yes, yes, _yes_ , fuck, I need it so much. Andrew, I'm almost—"

"Not yet," Andrew says, and Kevin whines, but moves his hand down anyway, teasing at this base of his dick, but that's almost _worse_. "I would not let you. Not until I came first— all over you, Kevin," he says. His voice is breathless and Kevin is dizzy with the knowledge that he's close, too. "I would watch the way you look when I do it. I would bring you right to the very edge, and only then would I let you come."

Kevin's pretty sure he's going to shake apart from need if Andrew doesn't let him come soon, but he knows better than to beg, to say _please_ , and all he can do is ask and hope Andrew is feeling as desperate as Kevin is himself right now.

"Let me," he says, cupping his balls with one hand. "Andrew, _let me_ , I'm so fucking close and I need it, I need you—"

He's not so gone he doesn't hear that little sound Andrew makes at that, and it only pushes him even higher, so it's a good thing Andrew says—

" _Come, Kevin_."

—Because he's not sure he could have stopped himself, anyway; a few strokes later and he's spilling messily across his stomach, wringing the pleasure out of himself by rolling into it and imagining Andrew doing the same thing, because he can _hear it_ when Andrew comes: he'd know that hitch of breath and choked-down sound anywhere, and it gets him so high he feels like he's floating, murmuring Andrew's name and letting everything else just fade away for a little while.

They don't say anything for a few minutes, just listen to each other's harsh breathing slowly returning to normal. Just for a second, the sharpness of missing him is worse, because Kevin would give anything at all to be able to press his lips to Andrew's throat, to kiss him, to skim his fingers along his back and tell him —without having to resort to anything as obvious as words— that he loves him, cherishes him, and needs him as much as he needs air.

He thinks maybe there's some part of Andrew that knows all that, anyway, but it would still be nice to remind him.

 _Next week_ , he tells himself. _Next week_.

"Do you think you will be able to sleep now?" Andrew asks eventually, and Kevin gives a low hum of agreement, reaching for his shirt to wipe himself down.

Anything else seems like too much effort in terms of moving; right now he just wants to lie here and sleep, preferably until Andrew's graduated, and they can play together again.

"Mm-hm. I feel so good, Drew," he sighs. "That was amazing."

Andrew clucks his tongue.

"Idiot. Do not forget to set your alarm," he says, but Kevin only laughs quietly.

"You're my alarm."

"And if I do not call you and you miss your game?"

"I trust you," Kevin says, snuggling into the pillow.

Andrew makes a disgruntled sound and hangs up, but Kevin knows he'll be hearing his voice again in exactly two and a half hours.

That's all he needs to send him right to sleep, and peaceful dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the curious: this is set in my some-day-I'll-write-this Olympics AU, where Neil joined Millport's Athletics team instead of their Exy one, so he doesn't meet up with Kevin and Andrew until 2012.


	5. day 4: amused

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I did a Five Things fic, so:
> 
> Five Times Andrew Made Kevin Laugh (And One Time Kevin Made _Andrew_ Laugh).

 

The first time Andrew makes Kevin laugh, they're at Eden's; Kevin has enough of a buzz from the booze and those stupid diner drugs that all of his problems seem very far away. So are Nicky and Aaron: Nicky's grinding against some guy who is twice his size, and Aaron is trying very hard not to look without entirely losing sight of him.

"Are they always like this?" Kevin asks, and Andrew shrugs one shoulder.

"Mostly."

"You never feel like joining them?"

The look Andrew cuts him is answer enough.

"Maybe you're just a terrible dancer," Kevin ventures, and Andrew's expression darkens even further.

"Do not talk about what you do not understand."

"You could always show me," Kevin says, and Andrew seems to consider that for a minute, gaze dragging over Kevin slowly.

"Could I."

"If you wanted."

Andrew doesn't move for a moment, just continues to stare at him, then leans in close, very close; close enough that he's almost in Kevin's lap, close enough that his breath tickles Kevin's ear.

He hums first, and Kevin shivers.

" _No_ ," he says, and Kevin bursts into startled laughter; when Andrew draws back, the look on his face is surprised. It's a good look for him, Kevin thinks, though he knows better than to say so. If Andrew doesn't want to, that's his prerogative; Kevin fully intends to push him when it comes to his game, but with anything else, it's his own business, even if it is something Kevin would like to see.

"Good to know you can be obnoxious off the court as well as on it," Kevin says, then reaches for his drink again.

Andrew's gaze follows him for the rest of night, though for the life of him, Kevin can't figure out why.

 

* * *

 

The second time Andrew makes Kevin laugh, Kevin is watching a game on his computer. Andrew, predictably, has been paying no attention, but when he gets up to get another drink, he pauses at Kevin's elbow just as the goalie fouls the ball, and scores an own goal.

"Idiot," Andrew mutters, and there is so much scorn in his voice that Kevin can't help the little snort of amusement that escapes him.

Andrew gives him a funny look, flicks the back of his head, and resumes his original path to the kitchen, but Kevin can't stop thinking about his voice for the rest of the game.

 

* * *

 

The third time Andrew makes Kevin laugh, Kevin has been looking for Andrew for twenty minutes— he's not answering his phone, and it's pure chance that Kevin spots that the fire exit door is slightly ajar.

He feels a hideous jolt of panic at that; they'd had the most god-awful row on the court that day, and Andrew had been withdrawn and disconnected all afternoon since. Kevin doesn't know everything about him, but he and Riko had found enough red flags in his history when they were considering him for the Ravens that Kevin takes the stairs two at a time, heart hammering in his chest more from distress than the physical exertion.

He bursts through the door (it's only later he realises how stupid it would be to startle somebody who might already be on the edge) to find Andrew perched in the corner of the building with a cigarette between his lips and a half-empty bottle between his thighs. He takes in Kevin's panicked dishevelment for a minute, then raises a brow.

"Andrew," Kevin says, bending over and putting his hands on his knees. "Fuck. You— _Fuck_."

The relief is immediate and _immense_ ; he laughs before he even thinks about it, then stands, locking his hands behind his head as Andrew just looks at him for a long moment until the penny drops.

"You were concerned," he says, like the words are a foreign concept to him.

"You weren't answering your phone," Kevin points out, dropping his hands and making his way over to him, parking his ass on the wall beside Andrew's shoe so that he can reach for the bottle between his thighs; to his surprise, Andrew doesn't try to swat his hand away, so he snags it between loose fingers and brings it to his lips, eager for the soothing wave of the moment when it hits his bloodstream.

"You were being extremely annoying today," Andrew points out, and Kevin huffs.

"Is this you evening the score?"

Andrew says nothing for a moment, then relieves Kevin of the bottle again.

"No."

"Then...?"

Kevin doesn't think he's going to get an answer for a little while, and he can live with that— it's not exactly surprising. Andrew keeps a lot to himself, and Kevin is trying to make his peace with that, despite the fact that of all the people in the world, Andrew is the one Kevin most wants to know, and to understand.

"I did not want to think about anything else for a while," he says, voice and gaze both low, and Kevin feels the strong and stupid urge to settle his hand on Andrew's knee.

"Oh," he says, and Andrew only shrugs. "I can leave, if you'd prefer?"

"You may as well stay, since you are here," Andrew says, then holds out the bottle to him.

It's not exactly a gilded invitation, but it's more than enough for Kevin.

 

* * *

 

The fourth time Andrew makes Kevin laugh, they're on the bus back to Palmetto after a game— and a victory. Spirits on the bus are high, though Kevin is irritated because they're not _listening_ , they only won because they got _lucky_ , their next game won't be nearly that _easy_ —

"Kevin," Andrew says, putting a hand on the back of his neck and pushing him back into his seat, "If you do not let them celebrate, they will be even more difficult tomorrow."

Kevin turns to glare at him.

"But I'm _right_ , damn it."

"And if you do not shut up," Andrew says, completely ignoring Kevin's protest and pressing one hand to his own temple, "I will leave you behind when we go to Columbia tomorrow."

Even now, with the danger of Riko behind them, Kevin knows an empty threat when he hears one, and he gives a soft snort of laughter.

"No," he says. "You won't."

Andrew's eyes narrow, but he doesn't argue, and the next evening, he hooks one finger into the collar of Kevin's shirt and to tug him away from his desk and into the bedroom to get changed so they can go to Eden's.

Kevin doesn't comment (and Andrew doesn't either), but he has a tiny smile on his lips all the way to the city.

 

* * *

 

The fifth time Andrew makes Kevin laugh, it's after his first final of the semester— Kevin's brooding about his score, and whether or not he wrote enough about the importance of Ammianus Marcellinus.

"I do not see why you even _care_ ," Andrew sighs, taking the bottle from him and downing a healthy amount. "You will be playing Exy. You are hardly going to end up an archeologist."

"I could be an archeologist if I wanted to be," Kevin says, and Andrew shoots him a disbelieving look.

"Digging around in the dirt, out in the cold, sleeping on camp beds in tents? You complain when you have to sleep on the couch at the house in Columbia, and last time we were at a motel, you tried to order _room service_ ," Andrew says, and Kevin huffs a little. "All that— and for no money, and no glory? I find this difficult to picture."

"You don't really think I do this for the _money_ , do you?"

He's offended. He doesn't want to be, but he thinks Andrew should know him better by now, and for some reason, the prospect that he doesn't... Actually hurts.

"I think you do it because you cannot imagine doing anything else," Andrew corrects, and Kevin relaxes a little, because he's right. "Though if it did not pay, I suspect I would hear a lot more complaints."

"I don't complain nearly as often as I'd like to," Kevin points out, much to Andrew's visible disbelief. "I don't! Believe me— I could complain non-stop around here if I wanted to."

"Don't you?" Andrew asks, and Kevin kicks at his foot lightly.

" _No_."

"You would still make a terrible archeologist," Andrew says, and Kevin is just about to bristle when he adds, "I would not trust you with a whip."

It takes Kevin a second to get it —his mind going other places first, before settling on Indiana Jones— before he starts to laugh, because that actually had been his Halloween costume one year when he was a child, back when such things were a possibility for him.

"Firstly— You can trust me with anything; I wouldn't take on to use it unless I knew what I was doing, and secondly... I really think you'd be the one with the whip."

Andrew freezes at that, blinking at Kevin in owlish surprise, and really: Kevin was right the first time. It _is_ a good look on him, and the thought occurs to Kevin how easy it would be to kiss him, and how little distance there is between Andrew's mouth and his, though he suspects that might cross the boundary from _attractive surprise_ into _unwelcome attention_.

Instead he says nothing further, just tilts his gaze out the window, though he can still feel Andrew watching him all the way home.

 

* * *

 

The first time Kevin makes Andrew laugh, it's the biggest surprise of all.

"No whips."

That's what Andrew says the next day in Columbia, once they're alone. Nicky and Aaron have gone on a grocery run, Kevin's on his computer watching a game, and Andrew is flipping channels on the TV— And it's in the midst of all this that he turns to Kevin and says, _No whips_ , and it takes Kevin quite a while to process that.

This time _he's_ the one left blinking, mouth dropping open a little.

"Uh," he manages, and that's actually more eloquent than he was expecting he'd manage. "Andrew. What?"

"No whips," Andrew repeats. "And no chains. No kink play of any kind, in fact, at least for today. And no touching."

"No touching while we...?" Kevin prompts, and Andrew leans in close to him again; he's suddenly reminded of that night at Eden's, Andrew's breath against his ear again, only this time Andrew doesn't say _no_ , he says—

"No touching while _I_ blow you."

The correction is subtle, but obvious, and Kevin gets it immediately.

" _Oh_ ," he says softly, vaguely embarrassed by the fact that those six words are enough to get him hard. "Okay. I can do... No touching."

"You had better," Andrew says, slightly grimly, but then his expression smooths out a little and into something softer and more open; something almost boyish. "You said that I could trust you."

"You can," Kevin says; his instinct is to touch him to prove it, but Andrew is as contrary in this as everything else, so Kevin deliberately puts his hands on show instead, settling them on his own knees.

Andrew pushes him back until he's lying back against the armrest, and slots himself between his knees, looking down at Kevin, eyes dark with passion and something harder to define.

"Do you want this?"

"I've wanted this since that night at Eden's when you said no to me," Kevin admits, and Andrew's gaze narrows.

"You never said."

"You never asked," Kevin says gently, and then Andrew gives a quiet sound and buries both hands in Kevin's hair, kissing him and kissing him until Kevin has to dig his fingers into his knees to keep from responding in kind.

It's a challenge to keep them there, but he'd said Andrew could trust him, and he'd die before he'd break that promise.

...Of course, he dies anyway (but it's only a little death). 

Andrew pulls away afterwards, and Kevin sits up, confused.

"Wait, did you...?"

Andrew just looks at him like it's a stupid question, but to be fair, Kevin's brain is a little scrambled right now. In fact, he thinks he's doing well to be shaping words at all when his mouth wants to be doing something different.

"You said no touching while you blew me," Kevin says, and though there's a loophole there, he'll keep his hands to himself until Andrew says otherwise. "But now you're done. So will you let me?"

Andrew looks at him for what feels like hours, calculating something in his head, some equation that Kevin doesn't have the numbers for— Hell, given Andrew, Kevin might not even know how to work with that type of math at all.

"Let you what?" he asks finally, and Kevin sucks in a breath.

"Anything," he says. "Tell me what you want, and I'll tell you if I can give it to you."

Andrew stills almost completely, then lifts both hands into Kevin's hair again, twisting his fingers into it until his grip is almost too tight. He laughs, and it's not a nice sound— too sharp and too broken, but it's still _real_ , and Kevin's whole body lights up at the sound of it.

"You are despicable," he says quietly.

"But I might as well stay, since I'm here," Kevin says, then leans in to kiss him again, hands still tight on his own knees. Andrew only lets go of his hair so he can catch Kevin's hands and bring them to his jaw.

Kevin smooths his thumbs over the bone in response, and puts aside everything else in the world that isn't Andrew Minyard.

Afterwards, Andrew disappears to clean up and have a cigarette, and Kevin goes out into the back yard to compose himself, trying to make sense of what's just happened, and what might happen in the future.

For the first time in a long time, thinking about that doesn't fill him with dread.

He stays out there until he hears Nicky and Aaron banging around the kitchen, putting things away, then heads inside.

Nicky looks over the fridge door at him when he comes in, and squints a little.

"What has you looking so amused?"

"Just the usual," Kevin says, and smothers his laugh in his sleeve.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something of a prequel to the previous story; this also takes place in the Olympics verse, and the reason Andrew's prepared to trust Kevin with this so early in their "relationship" is because they've known each other for over a year now— and unlike in canon with Neil (and unlike with Kevin in the first story in this collection), Andrew knows all of Kevin's secrets at this point. He trusts him, and that counts for a lot.


	6. day 5: tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night before the morning after: drunk Kevin is quite a challenge for Andrew, in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've often wondered how Kevin handled booze initially before his body got used to it; by the time Neil starts going to Columbia with them, Kevin is well entrenched in his drinking, but I do think initially it might have had a little more punch and lifted his spirits and loosened his tongue a little more...
> 
> This is a direct prequel to Monday's story, so I'll put the link to that at the end.

For someone who's never had booze before, Kevin is putting away a fairly heroic amount of alcohol.

That's what Nicky says to Aaron once Kevin is six shots in, and clearly buzzing. Andrew's been pacing himself; he has to drive home, for one thing, but for another, he has to keep an eye on Kevin, who clearly doesn't know how to handle his drink. It's making him _friendly_ : chatty, and actually interested in other people for once... And yes: half of his conversation is still about Exy ( _Dan's a great player, but she doesn't push the team hard enough — Have you seen Jeremy Knox's footwork; he's like a dancer — I think the Lions are in real trouble this year_ ), but for once, _not_ all of it is. 

He gets into an argument with Nicky about modern music, about how "this rubbish" (those are the words he uses; Andrew thinks he sounds eighty years old) is terrible, so Nicky says he'll get them to play something Kevin will like, disappearing into the crowd while Kevin downs another drink. When he comes back, they start playing _Promiscuous_ , which Kevin does not like at all. Halfway through, though, he still starts to laugh, and he ends up conducting Nicky through the end of it, despite the fact that Nicky can't sing (even the club can't drown out the way he mangles the high-notes, sounding like someone has him by the balls, and is squeezing) and Kevin is drunk enough that his movements are jerky and terrible.

Aaron is agrees to take him to the bathroom after that, and Andrew lights another cigarette as Nicky drums the beat of the song on the table, long after it's finished playing and the DJ has moved on.

"Andrew," he starts, and Andrew gives him a dead look.

"No."

"You don't even know what I was going to say!"

"I already know the answer will be no, but fine: I will indulge you."

"Since Kevin's getting his own drinks—"

"No."

"You didn't even let me finish!" Nicky pouts, but Andrew won't be moved on the matter. 

"You are going to tell me that does not qualify as you getting him too wasted to be straight, yes?" 

"Well," Nicky says, squirming. "I mean..."

"If he is interested in you, I am sure he will tell you. He certainly has no problems saying anything else. Leave him alone, Nicky."

" _Fine_ ," Nicky says, slinking back to the dance floor to target some other unfortunate for the night. 

The Kevin problem is becoming an increasingly irritating one for Andrew. It's not just Nicky who's noticed him, but Kevin has sense enough to keep his distance from random fans and would-be suitors of all genders; Andrew warned him at the outset that he couldn't protect him if he was stupid enough to get tangled up in romantic affairs, and Kevin had only shrugged. 

"I have a girlfriend, anyway," he said, though the _way_ he said it didn't sound particularly convincing to Andrew. Besides which, after months in Kevin's company, Andrew had never seen any evidence of a relationship— no messages, or phonecalls, or meet-ups. Not even on his birthday. If there was a relationship, it was probably over, and Kevin either couldn't or wouldn't accept it, but Andrew had no intention of getting involved in his personal business either way. If he thought he had a girlfriend, whether he did or didn't was irrelevant so long as it kept him away from anyone else who might be a threat to him.

Andrew's just about self-aware enough to know that maybe there's a little more to it than Kevin's protection, but it doesn't matter; in addition to the maybe-real-and-maybe-imaginary girlfriend, Kevin has told Nicky repeatedly that he's not his type, and he's complained enough about Nicky's open sexuality and the problems it could cause him further down the line that Andrew can guess he means he's not interested in men, period.

...Then again...

Then again.

Sometimes Kevin looks at him, and they're not the gazes and glances of a man who isn't interested. 

The trouble is this: they _are_ the gazes of a man looking for answers, for a direction, for something to hold onto, and while Andrew is perfectly happy to be Kevin's anchor —it's a fair trade if Kevin can make Andrew care about something— that's hardly a sound basis for a relationship. Kevin is already too close to him and too caught up in his life for Andrew to be able to keep him at a distance like he does Roland or anyone else, so if he were to embark on something with him, it wouldn't be just fun, just exploration, just something he could end whenever he wanted to. Andrew has made a commitment to keep Kevin in his life for another four years, and Kevin... Kevin doesn't seem like the type of person who handles _feelings_ well.

So Andrew keeps his distance, but also makes sure everyone else keeps theirs, too. 

Selfish, maybe. 

He never claimed to be a saint.

Kevin returns from the bathroom with renewed vigour, having challenged Aaron to a drinking contest on the walk back. Predictably, Aaron can't let it go, and Andrew watches with disgruntled disbelief as the pair of idiots down another three drinks before Andrew pulls the plug and sends Aaron to join Nicky on the floor. 

Kevin seems disheartened to lose either his drinking buddy or his opportunity to make this into a competitive sport, but perks up a bit a minute later when he realises one of Nicky's abandoned drinks had come with a cherry.

"Hey, hey— Andrew. What do you bet I can get _this_ cherry," he says, holding it up, before pointing across the table, "Into _that_ glass?"

"Considering that you have squeezed it without even noticing, it would be taking advantage to wager," Andrew says dryly.

It takes a second for that to sink in, and then Kevin looks down at his hand, blinks, and licks the juice off his fingers. It's one of the many things Andrew wishes he hadn't immediately committed to memory, but he's fairly sure that image will haunt him when he goes to bed tonight: Kevin's pink tongue lapping sticky juice off pale skin. Christ. 

That mental picture is the last thing he needs right now, but fortunately Kevin is too drunk to notice the effect it had on him.

"Whatever," he says, "It'll just be— Lighter now. I can _absolutely_ accommodate for the change in volume. Absolutely."

"Weight," Andrew corrects; Kevin waves his hand and almost sends the cherry flying. 

"Whatever. What do you bet?"

"I do not bet," Andrew says, but curiosity prompts him to further inquire— "Is there something you want if you _can_ do it?"

Kevin hums and licks his fingers again, and Andrew grips his glass tightly enough that he's in danger of breaking it.

"I want a lot of things," he says, and Andrew sighs.

"If you ask me to play—"

That's all he gets to say before Kevin looks like Andrew has kicked his puppy.

" _No_. It wouldn't count if you don't do it for yourself," he says, and Andrew feels a tiny flicker of something ( _hate, it's definitely hate_ ) in his stomach at that. "I wouldn't ask you that, Andrew."

"Then what?"

"If I win," Kevin says eventually, "You let me drive your car."

"You can barely operate your own legs right now," Andrew points out, and Kevin sighs.

"Not _tonight_. Just— Some time." He looks down at the table then, reaching out for a beer mat and turning it over and over with one hand. "I don't have any independence here," he says finally. "It's like— It's like back at Evermore in a lot of ways. I still have to have somebody with me at all times. I never get to do anything for myself. Okay, I don't have to share a room with somebody I'm afraid of anymore, but it's still all—" 

He huffs. 

"Forget it, it's stupid," he says, and much as Andrew's irritated with himself for it, he can't let that slide— it was the first sign of anything like independence or strength he's seen from Kevin since he arrived, and he'd be no kind of— Of whatever he's supposed to be to Kevin if he didn't at least try to encourage it.

"Fine," he sighs. " _If_ you can get it in the glass, and _when_ you are sober, and _only_ if I see you driving somewhere safe first, like the parking lot at the dorm where you can't kill yourself or somebody else."

Kevin brightens up immediately— that stupid, sunny smile looks desperately out of place on his ascetic features; Andrew both loathes it, and wants to keep it there indefinitely.

"Yeah?"

"Yes," Andrew says, and nods at the glass. "Shoot. Literally, in this case. You have three tries," he adds charitably, because despite his mood, Kevin is looking a little worse for wear. 

"I'll only need one," Kevin says, and that proves to be the truth, because on his first shot he overcompensates wildly for the reduced weight of the cherry. He flings it _way_ harder than necessary, sending it sailing beyond their table to the table behind, where it lodges itself, inexplicably, in the ample cleavage spilling out of one club-goer's corset.

" _Um_ ," Kevin says, his earlier desire for independence immediately vanishing. "Go ask her for it back for my next shot."

"I do not believe I will have to ask," Andrew says, watching as the woman's irate boyfriend picks it out, squashes it ( _my ball_ , Kevin says indignantly, and Andrew briefly thinks that isn't the ball he should be worried about), then stomps his way over to them. 

It doesn't seem to matter that his girlfriend has folded onto the table with laughter at the whole thing; her partner doesn't seem to be appreciating it at all.

"What the fuck—" he starts, and Andrew immediately steps in front of Kevin.

"Now, now," he says. "Let's nobody say anything they do not mean."

The guy —who has about a foot on Andrew, and is more than twice his width—stops when he realises he'll have to deal with the littler, sober one, and not the one who keeps getting the unfortunate giggles behind him.

"I mean everything I say," the guy growls. "Your boyfriend there is trying to get fresh with my girl," he says, and Andrew rolls his eyes, because honestly: how predictable.

"If he is my boyfriend, why do you think he would be interested in 'your girl'?"

The question proves difficult enough for the giant dimwit that he doesn't react immediately, and Andrew takes the opportunity to slip one of his knives out of the sheath and press it delicately against the guy's groin. If he'd been quiet before, he is downright silent then, going stock-still, and Andrew smiles.

"Now would be a good time for you to go back to your girlfriend and tell her my _boyfriend_ is sorry for his poor aim," Andrew says, digging the tip in just a little. "A very good time."

The guy holds up both hands and backs off slowly, white as a sheet underneath the club lights.

Andrew sheaths the knife before Kevin can see it, then turns around.

"Your boyfriend, huh?" Kevin says; clearly, he's still slightly giggly and not nearly contrite enough looking, so Andrew thinks getting him out of eyeshot of their neighbour would be a good idea.

"Come on," he says, catching Kevin by the wrist, and tugging. "You lost. You have to do a forfeit."

"What?!" Kevin says, though for all his indignation, he allows Andrew to tug him through the crowd. "I didn't agree to that. Did I agree to that?"

"It was implied," Andrew says, taking him to the exit and herding him outside. 

Kevin gives a huff as the cooler night air hits his skin. 

"What kind of... Forfeit?"

Andrew actually has no idea; he was just saying it to get Kevin out of the club and out away from their new _friends_. He wants a cigarette, though, so he says the first thing that comes to mind—

"You have to smoke."

"What? Fuck that. I don't smoke."

"Well, you did not get your _ball_ in the glass, either," Andrew points out. "So now you have to do the forfeit. You bet, Kevin," Andrew reminds him, and Kevin sighs heavily.

"God, _whatever_. One won't kill me. Probably."

"Two," Andrew says, just to be malicious, and Kevin sighs, wobbling his way over to the nearest wall and parking his ass on it. 

The fresh air doesn't seem to have agreed with him, and he looks even less _with it_ than ever.

"Fine, two. When I die, I'll be cursing you for the— Eight minutes, or whatever it is, that you cut off my life."

...So. The booze only goes so far in diluting his natural bitchiness, apparently; Andrew only sighs, because really, this should be no surprise.

"Considering your issues will probably see me drinking myself into an early grave, that seems fair," Andrew says, joining him on the wall and fishing the cigarettes out of his pocket, but Kevin blanches at the words.

"I don't want that," he says quietly, pulling one knee up to his chest. The bitchiness abandoned, he looks lost and vulnerable as he speaks. "I don't want to be bad for you, Andrew."

If Kevin's issues don't take him out, Andrew thinks, then the mood swings definitely will.

"Shut up," he says, lighting one cigarette and then holding it in his fingers so that he can light the second off it, then passes it to Kevin, "And suck that."

"That's how it is now I'm your _boyfriend_ , huh?" Kevin says, and it's fortunate that he tries to inhale right after, because Andrew himself ends up coughing profusely, and Kevin only misses it because he is himself trying to put his lungs on the outside for a moment. 

Jesus _Christ_. 

He should never let Kevin Day anywhere near alcohol again, he thinks, and wonders how feasible that's going to be to implement considering he seems to have a taste for it now.

The cigarettes, though, are another matter—

"Andrew, this is _awful_ ," he whines, even though he's only halfway through. "Why do you _do_ this?"

The question is asked around another barrage of coughing, so Andrew hits him a few times on the back.

"You are inhaling too deeply," he says, and Kevin gives him a bleary-eyed stare.

"Isn't that the whole point?"

"You cannot do _anything_ without over-committing, can you?" Andrew asks, and he feels that tell-tale warning itch in his gut now, the feeling of skating over thin ice, because if he'd thought before that Kevin didn't seem like someone who'd handle _feelings_ very well, now he is is certain. Even this —something he hates, and thinks is stupid, and that he did not sign up for— is still something he cannot half-ass.

Andrew hates that, and hates himself for hating it.

He shouldn't care how Kevin feels about anything, but the idiot is looking at him with big green eyes, bloodshot and hazy with smoke, and Andrew cares more than he could ever have imagined. 

Damn it, and damn him.

Damn both of them.

"Isn't that the whole point?" Kevin says again, a tiny smile playing on his lips that suggests he thinks he's clever. Andrew cannot look at him anymore, so he gets out his pack again and busies himself with that instead. 

"It is your point."

"Could be yours, too," Kevin says, and Andrew gives him a hard stare.

"I do not want to be you. It has not served you very well thus far, has it?" he asks, catching Kevin's hand and rubbing his thumb pointedly over the scar there. He expects Kevin to jerk it away —he is understandably protective of it since the cast came off— but instead he only grips Andrew's hand in return, and Andrew feels a tremble in his blood that should be repulsion or fear or fury, and instead is just _want_ , and it's a long moment before either of them let go. 

"That wasn't me," Kevin says, resting his hand on his own lap and looking down at it. "That was Riko."

"It does not work so well for him either."

"Well, fuck Riko," Kevin says, and Andrew knows there is no way on this Earth Kevin would speak of Riko like that sober, but the flash of boldness touches him just the same. "I'm talking about _you_. You should— Andrew, you should have something good in your life. I owe you so much for everything, and I just want..."

"What do you want, Kevin?" Andrew asks the question, and Kevin chews on his lip, but it seems like he's hit the end of his leash for now— and the end of his cigarette, too.

He holds out a hand.

"Another, come on. We said two."

" _I_ said two," Andrew corrects. "And if I had said twenty, would you have gone along with it?"

_Fuck Riko_ , Kevin had said, but the problem is it's difficult to stand alone after being half of a whole for most of your life, and sometimes Andrew wonders if Kevin is looking for a replacement: for someone to tell him what to do, so he doesn't have to think for himself... But he _does_ think for himself, and eventually he shakes his head.

"No. Two seems... Fair, and—" It takes him a second to come up with a better explanation. "Sensible? Sensible. One to try, and one to do it right with."

Once Andrew has the cigarette out of the pack, Kevin takes it from him— his coordination is shot to shit, but he manages to get it into his mouth, still. 

"Light me up," he mumbles around it, and Andrew does, holding the lighter in front of his face and cupping one hand around it, because Kevin either doesn't have the sense to, or isn't capable at the present time. "Still awful," he comments after the first breath, but he takes it a little slower and a little less deeply, and Andrew wonders if that's a sign the idiot _can_ learn... And then wonders why he cares, and if that makes him the real idiot here. 

He looks up at the stars, and they smoke in silence for a little while until Andrew realises Kevin is watching him instead of anything else.

Maybe it's because he's the only thing close enough for Kevin to focus on in his drunken state, but he thinks maybe it's more than that, and he doesn't know how to feel about it. Altering the boundaries of their relationship is a stupid, stupid idea, and he feels it most keenly in moments like this, when it seems like Kevin is looking at him like he is a life preserver that will keep him afloat. Andrew had offered to be an anchor, something to _ground him_ — he doesn't know how to keep anyone afloat when he can barely manage to keep his own head above water. 

He's afraid if Kevin looks for anything more than that, Andrew will end up sinking him, and that benefits nobody. 

"You are staring," Andrew says, his tone cutting, but for once, Kevin doesn't seem dissuaded. 

"Well, _you_ are pretty," Kevin says, entirely without artifice, and Andrew freezes, though inside he is hot with fury: he is not some pretty, fragile thing for others to _look at_ and _use_ — He's _not_ pretty at all, he's— How _dare_ Kevin—

The thoughts spin in his head, one after the other, ranging from offended to murderous, but then most important of them is this: Andrew has heard this before, and it has never been followed by anything good, so the smart thing to do here is to brace himself for the worst.

It doesn't come.

Kevin doesn't try to touch him or kiss him or do anything at all: he just keeps looking, keeps taking little puffs from the cigarette, keeps his hands to himself.

"Kevin," Andrew says, but it doesn't sound as much like a warning as he'd hoped it would.

"And for the record: if I was your boyfriend," Kevin says, clearly trying to sound like he's sober now, which is the surest sign that the cigarettes and air have gone straight to his head, "You wouldn't have to _tell me_ to suck it."

Fucking _hell_. Andrew can take no more; he reaches over and snatches the rest of the cigarette out of Kevin's hand. 

"You have had enough," he says, and Kevin makes a sound of protest. 

"Did you hear what I—"

"I heard." Andrew cuts him off before he can repeat himself, or worse: say something more dangerous. "You are drunk off your ass and you are running your mouth. It is time we went home."

"We're going back to PSU?" Kevin says confusedly, and Andrew sighs.

"No; we are going to the house in Columbia," he explains, and Kevin nods, then starts to look a little green. 

"Andrew, I don't feel—" That's all he gets to say before he's turning away, throwing up over the wall and only narrowly missing his shoes.

There's no question about it: Kevin Day is the very worst thing to happen to Andrew, ever. 

...So why does Andrew feel so compelled to take care of him now?

"From romance to regurgitation," he says dryly. "And in less than thirty seconds. A new record, to be sure, even for you."

Kevin wipes at his mouth, pulls a face, then gets up so he can stagger away. 

"I don't do a lot of romance," he admits, to none of Andrew's surprise. "And even less drinking. And. I'm. I'm so done with the smoking."

"But you still did it, so you cannot complain about me doing it in the future," Andrew says, and Kevin's expression is so dismayed it's almost funny.

"You're really awful," he says, and Andrew snorts. 

"And yet I am still the man who will get you home in one piece," he says, putting a hand on Kevin's back and pushing him towards the doors. 

"Yeah," Kevin sighs. "You're my best friend, you know," he adds, and Andrew nearly trips over his own feet. 

_My best friend_. He hasn't heard that since grade school— and even then, he hadn't entirely believed it. 

Somehow, he can't find it in himself to disbelieve those words now. 

"You don't have to be my boyfriend," Kevin continues, and Andrew has the urge to slap his hand over his mouth. "Being my best friend is enough. You're still... You still look after me. And it'd make life so hard for both of us anyway. People are—" he waves a hand. " I like you," he says, and something in Andrew's stomach tightens and tightens at the words. "I like you, and I want you. I want everything. But maybe this is better. Just friends. None of the... Boyfriend stuff," he adds, and Andrew pokes him in the rib.

"Do not say the word _boyfriend_ again tonight, do you understand? If you want to talk about this, we will do it in privacy, and when you are sober. Tomorrow."

Kevin rubs his side and give Andrew the puppy eyes, but nods his agreement.

"Tomorrow," he says. "Okay."

He's very nearly asleep on his feet by the time Andrew has rounded up Aaron and Nicky and herded them out to the car; the ride home is quiet, punctuated only by Kevin's occasional snores from where he's propped uncomfortably against the window. 

"You think he's gonna be okay?" Nicky asks, eyeing him from the backseat. 

"I will watch him," Andrew says. "Switch rooms with me tonight; we will never get him up the stairs in this state."

Nicky looks like he might object, but eventually sees the smarter route, and nods.

"Yeah, all right."

It turns out that they struggle to even get him out of the car, though between the three of them, they get there eventually, and manhandle him into the house. 

Aaron disappears to his room without another word, but to Andrew's annoyance, Nicky lingers, and Andrew is half-afraid that Kevin will say something stupid again and incriminate himself. 

"This isn't the way I imagined getting you into my bed," Nicky jokes, and Andrew glares at him, but Kevin only rolls over. 

"Nicky, I told you: not my _type_ ," he says vehemently. "But, I'm. The bed's good," he says, burrowing into it. "Thanks. It's comfy. Smells nice."

"It won't smell so nice if you puke in it," Nicky warns, then backs up to the door. "Seriously, Andrew. Get him a bucket or something, okay?"

Andrew waves him away without taking his eyes off Kevin —miraculously deeply asleep already— and he isn't sure which to focus on first: the fact that he can tease Kevin about the word _comfy_ for the rest of his days, or the fact that while he'd come on to Andrew, he'd turned Nicky down flat.

Again. 

The booze might have loosened his tongue, but it doesn't seemed to have changed his preferences any, so whatever he said to Andrew... 

Whatever he had said to Andrew, he had meant it.

"Idiot," Andrew says, but he gets no response. 

He pulls over a chair and sinks into it, fingers locked, elbows on his knees, and settles in to watch Kevin for the rest of the night.

Tomorrow. They can talk about it _tomorrow_.

Andrew glances at the curtains; there's no glow on the horizon yet, but it won't be long in coming, bringing with it a new day.

But, he thinks, when he looks back at Kevin, hopefully it won't be all that different. 

He has become quite attached to the old one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's poor Kevin's experience of [the morning after](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13808781/chapters/31751247).
> 
> (He's a little hungover, but it works out okay.)
> 
> Funny story: I struggle writing Andrew's dialog sometimes, because he just says so little, but it turns out Andrew _POV_ is super easy for me to write, and this ended up being the longest story in this collection so far? Madness. I do need to write some more from his perspective in the future, though— Perhaps in Kandreil Continuation verse...? We'll see.


	7. day 6: spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a world where Neil Josten disappeared before the first Foxes-Ravens game, Andrew and Kevin try to deal with the fallout of the final match of Kevin's final year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise in advance for the angst you are about to receive.

When Kevin signed the Foxes three years ago, the thought of them getting to semi-finals was laughable. Relegation was far more likely— in fact, in his first year, they _had_ been threatened with it more than once, especially after Neil disappeared. They'd clawed their way up the table over the years that followed, however, and to Kevin's extreme delight, there was no chance of this year's team losing their status.

Somehow, that makes it even harder to bear: to come this close— and _lose_? And to the _Lions_ , of all teams?

Kevin knows he's going to have to find a way to make his peace with leaving the team without ever bringing them a Championship, but he doesn't know how. After what had happened to Riko, he really thought they had a shot this year, but the Ravens had rallied in the wake of his death. They beat the Trojans as soundly as they ever had with him and Kevin on their line (Kevin still wasn't sure if that was a sign of honour or insult), and the Foxes... The Foxes had battled the Lions to the final point, but they just weren't strong enough.

Maybe it's for best, he thinks. Maybe facing the Ravens in a final would have been too much for him, especially after Riko—

"Thinking of throwing yourself off the edge because of your failure?"

The words make him jump, and it's a long moment before he relaxes, even after he realises it's only Andrew. He's on edge in more ways than one, though he should have known Andrew would come looking for him once the team's Misery Party had died down.

"No," he says, because he really isn't; he has no desire to do something stupid, he just wanted... Some space to try to figure things out, maybe. Answers. Andrew told him once that he came up here to feel, but Kevin comes to look down at the world and try to puzzle out his place in it.

Since the day he left Evermore, he has been struggling to figure out where he fits now, and even though he'll be graduating in a few weeks, he still has no answers; every slot he tries seems less suited to him than the last, and he's very nearly out of options.

Andrew moves to his side, close to Kevin's shoulder, then leans over the wall for a look before pulling out his cigarettes. Kevin doesn't even bother to complain about the second-hand smoke, just watches Andrew light up out of the corner of his eye, the cherry end glowing brightly in pre-dawn darkness.

"You seem surprisingly sober for a man who ended his college career tonight," Andrew says, needling, but Kevin only shrugs.

"I can't afford to go down that rabbit hole right now," he says simply. "If we'd won, if I was coming out of this year as a Champion or even a finalist, it would be one thing, but..." He shrugs, turning his gaze back to the sky. "I'm starting on the back foot, so there is no margin for error. I have to be in peak condition."

Andrew makes a disapproving sound and flicks his cigarette in Kevin's direction.

"Three years on, and you have not learned a damn thing, have you? I thought with Riko finally out of the picture, you would realise —at last— that you do not have to run yourself to the bone for this..." His lips curls before he says: "... _Sport_."

Kevin looks at him, incredulous.

"Andrew, that doesn't change anything. Well—" he hastens, before Andrew can correct him, "Okay, it changes _some_ things. I'll never have to play with him again, not even if I make it back onto the National team. I don't have to be afraid of him anymore. But it doesn't change... It doesn't change the fact that I haven't been able to distinguish myself on the court since the 'accident', that I'm going out into the Professional Leagues without a Championship win since my freshman year."

"You are still Kevin Day."

"That doesn't mean what it used to."

Andrew blows a cloud of smoke in his direction and Kevin winces a little.

"So what will you do? Sign with the best team that will take you, and spend the next ten years trying to prove yourself?"

"What else is there?"

Andrew looks at him, and for a moment, Kevin thinks he's actually going to give him answer, but then the moment passes, and he looks away.

"For you, apparently nothing."

"And for you?" Kevin asks, though he regrets it the minute the words are out of his mouth; Andrew's expression goes from thoughtful to dead.

"I do not need anything."

"It doesn't have to be a _need_ ," Kevin says, desperation bleeding into his voice. "It only has to be a _want_. Andrew— Your stats are still the best in our district. You could have a career. I'll help if you let me, I can make a case for you, I—"

"No."

It's so final, so definite, that Kevin aches from it.

"Why?"

"We had an agreement," Andrew says, without taking his gaze off where the sun is beginning to lighten the horizon, golds and pinks spilling across the sky. "It ends when you sign your contract. In fact, perhaps it should have ended when Riko died. You were safe, then."

"And what about my end of the deal?"

Andrew lifts one shoulder in a shrug.

"I have been off the drugs for two years. I am still here. We have both held up our end of the bargain."

Despite the wall under his hands and solid concrete under his feet, Kevin feels like he's falling, falling, falling.

"So we're done? That's it?"

" _What else is there?_ " Andrew says, voice mocking, and Kevin steps back, stung— It's not a surprise that Andrew would use his own words against him, but it hurts so much to think that's all there is between them after all this time, after _everything_.

"Andrew," he says hoarsely, "I don't know how to do this without you."

It is the most honest confession he can give voice to, but Andrew brushes it aside like ash from his cigarette.

"You will learn. I will be here next year regardless of what you want, and you will be alone."

The word _alone_ makes Kevin's gut turn over and his head throb weakly, but Andrew either doesn't see his reaction or doesn't care to acknowledge it, because he blows past it without stopping.

"You are safe. Your life is your own. And you will have to learn how to handle that."

"And what will _you_ have to learn?" Kevin asks, not entirely able to keep the venom out of his voice, but Andrew seems unaffected by that, too.

"I already know everything I need to," he says, then drops the cigarette butt to the ground and grinds it under his heel, turning and walking away without looking back.

Kevin wants to call after him, wants to _run_ after him— He wants to tell him that he's being stupid, that this is unnecessary, that he's punishing himself and punishing Kevin and there's no sense to any of it, that they can figure something out, that he can _be_ something, that he can have a future, that _they_ can have a future, that Kevin wants him and needs him in his life, that he has spent the last three years trying to work up the courage to choose Andrew even if it means his career will be harder for it, but he can't, he _can't_ , all he can do is say—

"You should have been Court."

Andrew stops, becoming entirely still for a moment, then turns his head just enough for Kevin to hear him when he speaks.

"And you should have known better by now," Andrew says, then disappears through the door, leaving only loneliness and the vague scent of smoke behind him.

Kevin waits on the roof alone, watching the sun come up and bring a new day with it— A new Spring day, the beginning of the rest of his life, his _future_. He has a offers from a dozen teams, and while it will not be as easy as it would have been if he were coming off this season on a win, he still has options, avenues, opportunities.

He is still Kevin Day.

What he doesn't have, however, is someone to face that future with, or someone to hold him together anymore.

He supposes he will have to figure out how to do that for himself, though at this particular minute, watching the sun come up on a brand new beginning, he has no idea _how_.

 _You will learn_.

Not the three words he wanted to hear from Andrew, not any more than _So we're done?_ are the three he waned to say, but that's how it played out, and now all that's left is _And you will have to learn how to handle that._

Andrew has always given him the best advice, and he has always been there when Kevin needed him.

...So maybe that means that if he's not there, then Kevin doesn't need him...?

Kevin has gotten out of the habit of lying to himself, but he suspects that maybe it's a skill he should re-acquire; as he squints into the bright sun, he tells himself that the future will be just as bright, that the years will be kind, that he doesn't need Andrew.

It would seem he's going to need practice, however, because it doesn't work yet. Despite his best efforts, Kevin keeps looking over his shoulder to the door where Andrew had disappeared, and instead of thinking _It will be fine; I don't need him_ , he keeps thinking _It will be fine, because_ —

—Because—

Because...

 _...He's coming back_.

(See? He's getting better at lying to himself already.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figure I lean heavily enough on how Neil and Andrew treat each other in canon to extrapolate how they might treat Kevin if they were romantically involved with him that it was high time I use some of the Kevin/Neil canon moments to build my Kevin/Andrew stuff on. It's so clear that he wants big futures for them, and to not be able to give that to them just... Kills him.
> 
> And as for Andrew— Did he kill Riko to make sure that Kevin would always be safe, but still lacked the emotional stability or capacity to tell Kevin that, or even that he cared? _Hmm..._
> 
> (But yes, he wants and feels just as much as Kevin does, and it kills _him_ that even after Andrew has said no, even when he is leaving, the only way Kevin tries to reach him is through Exy— so in this verse, it's not until Exy is no longer the biggest thing in Kevin's life that they can reconnect again.)
> 
> If the angst is all too much for you, there's a ten-years-later sequel to this already written, which you can read [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13808781/chapters/31781832).


	8. CODA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Closure, in three verses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is late! I don't know what came over me— The worst case of writer's block I've ever encountered, I guess; I could NOT get the Rebirth/Spring coda to work at all, probably because I really wanted this to be longer and have them admitting more things, but it doesn't fit with the timeline I have planned for that verse, and when I fight against what I want to do, it never ends well, especially when I'm under the weather.

## What if Neil had never joined Millport's Exy team?

(Coda to [Amused](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13808781/chapters/31833831) & [Separation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13808781/chapters/31830420))

 

"You," Andrew says, surveying the mountain range of boxes surrounding them, "Have too much stuff. How did you fit all of this in our dorm at PSU?"

"I didn't," Kevin admits, "Some of it was at Abby's, some of it was at dad's, and some of it was in our room at Columbia."

Andrew sighs, parking his ass on the corner of one of the larger boxes, then reaches for his cigarettes, though his hand pauses halfway there.

"You are going to bitch if I smoke in here."

It's not a question because it doesn't need to be a question, and Kevin only pulls a face in response.

"It's a rental, Andrew. When we get our own place, you can smoke—"

"Everywhere?"

Kevin sighs himself at that, using one hand to test if the box can support his weight, too, then opts for caution and leans against it instead, nudging Andrew's side lightly.

"Yeah, but maybe not _all_ of the time."

Andrew considers that for a moment before wiggling off the box and hooking a finger into Kevin's beltloop, tugging him towards the balcony.

"Agreed."

Andrew pauses briefly before opening the doors, then steps out onto it and looks over the edge before turning away and lighting a cigarette.

"You could not get a first-floor apartment?"

"I could have done, but then where would you go when you visited? This place isn't Fox Tower; you rig open the fire door here and people are going to notice."

"Nothing less than the finest security for superstar Kevin Day, the youngest Starting Striker in professional history," Andrew says dryly, and purses his lips.

"I am allowed to be proud of that," he huffs, folding his arms across his chest. "I _should_ be proud of myself for that." He sighs, ignoring the sideways look Andrew gives him. "You get drunk _one time_ and run your mouth about something and you never hear the end of it, it's hardly—"

"I am proud of you, too," Andrew says, so quiet that Kevin barely hears it over his tirade, but he does hear it, and the words are enough to make him stop mid-sentence, mouth slightly open.

" _Andrew_ ," he says quietly, but Andrew only shrugs.

"You deserve this, Kevin."

He doesn't look at him at he speaks, gaze out on the city in front of them, but Kevin's chest still aches from it.

"I just— I just wish you were coming with me."

"In time."

"I don't want to live here without you. It's been four years, Andrew—"

"Three and a half," Andrew corrects, and Kevin gives a low laugh at that, lifting one hand to the nape of Andrew's neck, dragging his fingers through the fine strands of hair there. Andrew tips his head back into it and lets his eyes slide shut; it's enticing enough that Kevin leans down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He tastes like smoke, which Kevin hates, but he still knows he'll miss it when it's gone.

"Three and a half years. Four. Ten. A _hundred_ ," he murmurs against Andrew's mouth. "All that matters is that it's long enough that I don't know what I'm going to do without you."

 "You can always get a dog," Andrew suggests slyly, and Kevin bites at his lip before withdrawing.

"I will remind you that it was your suggestion when I do," he says, and Andrew snorts quietly.

"You would have done it anyway."

 "True, but now I get to blame you for it."

Andrew gives him a blank look, but then he drops his cigarette and catches Kevin's hand to pull him closer again, close enough that he's pressed against Andrew's back. They've come a long way since the morning Andrew said _No touching while I blow you_ , but it's still rare enough for Andrew to seek this kind of closeness —to be caged against Kevin's body— especially with nothing but a long drop in front of him.

 _I am proud of you_ , he'd said, and Kevin's throat tightens at the thought as he wraps his arms around Andrew's waist.

"I'm proud of you, too, you know," he says, dipping his head to nuzzle against Andrew's throat, gratified by the tiny intake of breath it earns him.

"You have not yet seen me play without you."

"I don't need to. I have faith in your talent— and it's not the only reason I'm proud of you, either."

Andrew stills at that, and Kevin kisses a light trail to his ear.

"You put me back together. You put _yourself_ back together. You came off the drugs and you played like it mattered to you and you let us have _this_."

"You are still talking about Exy," Andrew points out, but Kevin only tightens his hold.

"I'm talking about your future and your happiness, of which Exy is a part, but _only_ a part. And _only_ a part of mine, too, and that's because of you. I'm talking about you letting yourself care about something, letting yourself have something, about—"

"Shut up, Kevin," Andrew says, and though he turns around in Kevin's arms, he doesn't try to push him away. "Shut _up_."

"I won't. Not this time, because tomorrow morning you're going to walk out of this apartment and I'm not going to see you again for two weeks, and before I can let you go, I need you to know that I love you. _I love you, Andrew_."

Andrew doesn't say anything for a minute, expression entirely blank, his body so tense in Kevin's arms that he thinks he should let go, but then Andrew's hands come up to knot into his hair and pull him down so his forehead is resting against Andrew's.

"I cannot say that," he says quietly, voice rough and choked. "I cannot say it back, Kevin."

"I don't need you to say anything. I just need you to _know_."

" _I hate you_ ," Andrew says, tightening his grip and pulling Kevin closer, closer, closer. "I hate you so much."

"I know," Kevin says, and then Andrew kisses him, breathing ragged against his lips, hands rough in his hair and on his face and across his body. "I know, I know, I know."

Andrew pushes Kevin back until the balcony's railing presses into his skin, then looks up at him, eyes dark and intent, even in the sunlight.

"This distance means nothing, do you understand? These miles and these years are _temporary_. When I leave, I will come back. When you go, you will return. We will still have this, because you are mine, and I do not give up the things I claim."

His words leave Kevin speechless.

Kevin hadn't meant to tell Andew what he had —hadn't known he was going to say it until the words came spilling out of him— but he'd been doomed to speak those words from the moment Andrew had said _I am proud of you_ , from the moment he'd agreed with Kevin about the two of them getting a place together, from the moment he'd helped Kevin haul boxes up in the lift, from the moment he'd kissed Kevin at his graduation ceremony, from the moment he'd pushed Kevin down on the couch and said _Do you want this_ , from the moment he'd said _I will protect you_ —

Perhaps even from the moment he'd said _I haven't even started being obnoxious yet_.

There was no place for them to end up but here.

"I'm yours," Kevin manages finally, and something in him settles at the words, able to relax a little at the thought of Andrew being miles away, where before the prospect had left him faintly queasy with terror. "I'm yours."

Andrew says nothing to that, just winds his arms around Kevin and pulls him in closer —his cheek resting above Kevin's heart, Kevin's nose buried in his hair— until the sun starts to dip below the horizon.

He's Andrew's, and Andrew is his, and however many miles there are between them or whatever team colours they wear, nothing will change that.

That knowledge —that admission— is all he needs.

 

* * *

 

## What if Kevin and Andrew got together in the year before Neil came to PSU?

(Coda to [Never Again](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13808781/chapters/31751247) & [Tomorrow](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13808781/chapters/31857759))

 

Kevin says _I love you_ seven times before he can finally convince Andrew to accept it.

The first time, they're at Eden's. Kevin's had too much to drink, and Andrew's hand is on his thigh under the table: a warm, welcome weight that's about the only thing keeping him grounded with the stress of everything going on around them, comforting enough that Kevin's on the verge of nodding off a little.

"You," he says, mainly to Andrew's shoulder, "Are the _best_ , you know that? I really love you," he adds, and Andrew snorts indelicately.

"You are drunk."

It's a valid point, but has no bearing on what Kevin had told him; drunk or sober, he still feels what he feels, and he's all ready to point that out, he just can't quite sort the words out in his head.

Andrew looks at him and rolls his eyes.

"Stop talking shit," he says, then prods at Kevin's ribs. "In fact: stop talking, period. Come on, up. I am taking you home."

Kevin doesn't find the words again that night, and in the morning, he realises he probably shouldn't have said it.

Then.

He probably shouldn't have said it _then_.

* * *

The second time, it's after a game; Andrew had blocked six shots on the goal in the last ten minutes of the match, and Kevin had pulled him into a fierce hug, right there on the court floor; the rest of the team are celebrating in similar fashion, so nobody will notice or  pass comment.

"That was fucking incredible," he breathes. "Jesus, Andrew, I love you."

Andrew shoves him back— hard.

"It is the game that you love," he says, and though his voice is flat and emotionless, his eyes are narrowed, and his mouth tight. "Do not try to convince yourself otherwise."

Of course Kevin hadn't meant to say it, and it _was_ Andrew's performance that loosened his tongue, but he knows how he feels, and he will still feel it once the euphoria of their win has worn off. He knows it's real, and he requires no persuading.

It's Andrew he needs to convince.

* * *

The third time, they are up on the roof —Andrew smoking, Kevin drinking— and Kevin has to ask the question:

"What will it take to make you believe me?"

That Andrew doesn't need to ask what he's talking about tells Kevin a lot about how much this has been playing on Andrew's mind.

"I do not have to believe you. It will change nothing either way."

"It would change something for me," Kevin says quietly, and Andrew finally turns his head to look at him.

"What will it change?"

"You'll _know_. You'll know I love you."

Andrew says nothing to that, just looks back up at the stars again.

"That," he says finally, "Would change nothing for me."

It's one of the few real lies Kevin has ever heard him tell, and he thinks maybe that's a kind of progress.

* * *

The fourth time, they're on the bus to their game; Kevin has parked himself in an empty seat, reading the opposing backliners' statistics over and over, trying to make them stick.

He barely registers Andrew passing by on the way to the back of the bus, but the flash of blond hair catches his eye, so he reaches out to snag his finger in Andrew's belt-loop.

"Hey."

"Problem?" Andrew asks cooly, and Kevin finally looks up from his pages.

"Not if we play properly." Which with this team was always something of a question mark, but that's not the point, the point is— "I haven't told you I love you today."

Andrew stares down at him, unimpressed, his gaze shifting from Kevin's face to the papers in his hand.Whatever he sees, he doesn't comment, only flicks his fingers and leaves without another word. Kevin watches him go in similar silence, then turns his attention back to his pages, and lets them absorb him for the rest of the ride.

They win by five points because Andrew closes out the goal, and though Andrew won't speak about that or their earlier "conversation", Kevin can't take his eyes off him the whole way home.

* * *

The fifth time, they are in the house in Columbia, in bed. Kevin is running his fingers through Andrew's hair, and Andrew is letting him, so he takes the chance to lean forward and dust kisses along the curve of his neck.

"I love the way your skin tastes," Kevin says softly.

Andrew makes a disgruntled sound, but tilts his head back to give him better access just the same.

"You talk entirely too much," Andrew sighs, and Kevin drags his teeth across his pulse.

"And I wasn't even telling you that I love you," he says teasingly, and that's too much for Andrew; he catches Kevin's hair and pulls him into a deep, searching kiss.

It does pretty effectively shut him up, but it doesn't matter: the words had been spoken, and Andrew had heard them one more time. 

* * *

The sixth time, they're on the plane home from their last match, spirits high off the back of their victory, when the pilot requests everyone return to their seats and buckle up.

The turbulence starts not thirty seconds later; Andrew digs his fingers into the armrest until his knuckles turn white, and Kevin drops one hand over his, squeezing lightly.

"This is when you usually distract me," Andrew grinds out— he won't look at Kevin, but there is enough of a plea in his voice that Kevin would fly the damn plane himself if he thought he could make a better hand of it.

"How would you like me to distract you?"

Andrew finally looks at him, expression neutral apart from the tight lines of fear around his eyes.

"Usually you try to tell me you love me," he says, and Kevin frowns.

"I'm not going to tell you something that causes you stress when you're already stressed, no matter how true it is," he says.

Andrew considers him for a minute, then huffs and looks away, but a small amount of the tension has gone out of his body just the same.

The rest of it goes when the turbulence smooths out a few moments, later, and he relaxes back into his seat, taking a deep breath. Kevin looks at him for a long time, watching composure return to him by small degrees, then finally leans in close to his ear and says:

"But for the record, I do love you."

Andrew says nothing to that, but not long afterwards, his hand finds Kevin's again, and this time, he does not let go until they land. 

* * *

The seventh time, they're in the car— in the parking lot, in fact, of some shitty drive-through. Kevin's finished a burger he knows he's going to regret for the rest of the week, and Andrew is still sucking down a milkshake like it's the last one he'll ever get his hands on.

Kevin looks over at him, shakes his head, and wraps up his trash.

"You're going to turn into an ice-cream one day," he sighs. "I'll just come into the dorm and there'll be a pint of Ben and Jerry's smoking by the window. We'll have to get new uniforms made. Custom racquets. And it will make this whole thing between us quite weird, but I might be able to spin it such that I can get an endorsement deal, so maybe it will all actually work out."

Andrew watches him through all of this with an unreadable expression; Kevin knows his sense of humor is a little thin at times, and Andrew is rarely one for laughter since he came off his drugs, but usually he gets a little _something_ more than this.

"Andrew?"

"Tell me again," he says quietly, and Kevin freezes.

He cannot believe Andrew is doing this here, now: in his car, while they are surrounded by drive-through wrappers. There's burger grease on Kevin's fingers, and he can still see the shine of strawberry milkshake on Andrew's mouth. They are miles from the court and their dorm and the house in Columbia, and it's the least romantic scenario he could have envisioned.

It changes nothing.

"I love you," he says.

Andrew watches him for a long time before handing Kevin his milkshake so that he can start the car, backing out of the spot and onto the road. He doesn't say another word, and neither does Kevin; it's not the first time he has said this and gotten no response, so he's not bothered. He does think it's a little strange, since Andrew has never asked Kevin to tell him that before, so maybe that's progress? Maybe that means—

"I believe you," Andrew says, so softly and quietly that the words almost stop Kevin's heart.

"Oh," is all Kevin can think to say, though his smile is reflexive, and he cannot keep it off his face. Andrew finally glances from the road to Kevin and narrows his eyes.

"You are an idiot," he says, and Kevin only scoffs.

Idiocy is a subjective concept, and as far as Kevin is concerned? He's just succeeded at the most important thing of all, so he can't be that stupid.

"Stop gloating and give me milkshake," Andrew says, and Kevin obediently holds out the cup, letting Andrew sip out of the straw without taking his hands off the wheel.

It's not _I love you, too_ , and it's not _I know_ , and it isn't even _Thank you_ , but it means Andrew believes him, at last. Maybe he'll never be able to say those words back, but Kevin's all right with that— He knows Andrew loves him, so as long as Andrew knows the sentiment is returned? That's all that he needs. 

* * *

They are on the podium, when Andrew finally says it.

He catches Kevin by the ribbon around his neck and tugs him downwards; Kevin is expecting a complaint or a tease or even a sexual suggestion, but instead it's just three little words breathed against his ear, and it's like the whole world tips sideways. When he pulls back to see Andrew's expression, there is only happiness and mischief in his eyes as Kevin goggles at him.

There are a million things he could say: _why now_ , _I love you too_ , _I am going to fucking murder you for this_ , but in the end the only thing he can manage is—

"I believe you." 

—And when Andrew smiles, it's brighter than the gold around their necks.

 

* * *

  

## What if Neil had run before the first match with the Ravens?

(Coda to [Spring](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13808781/chapters/31882137) & [Rebirth](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13808781/chapters/31781832))

 

"Your house is obnoxious," Andrew says. "And you have too much stuff."

"Noted," Kevin tells him, without looking up from the suitcase on the bed; he refuses to give Andrew the satisfaction, but after years of living alone with only a dog for company, he still jumps a little every time Andrew walks into the room unannounced. He's a long way from both Evermore and PSU, but all those years alone have blurred the line between the two, and it's not always Andrew he expects when he registers another warm body in the room.

"You are aware that there are stores in Ireland?" Andrew says, surveying the mound of clothes Kevin has already put in the case and the neat stacks still waiting on the bed.

"How would you know?" Kevin asks, debating for a minute before adding another shirt to the suitcase.

"Television," Andrew says, and Kevin rolls his eyes.

"I still need to pack. Do me a favour and take the dog out while I finish up, will you?"

Andrew looks from Kevin to where Troy is curled up in his bed by the door.

"Fenrir over there weighs more than I do," Andrew says, eyeing him warily. "How am I supposed to control him if he runs off?"

"Troy," Kevin corrects, though he knows he really shouldn't rise to the bait. "And he won't run off. He's impeccably behaved."

"Considering you trained him," Andrew says, "Do I need to bring a bottle instead of treats?"

"You don't need to bring either," Kevin says, rubbing at his temple. "Just bring his leash, and give simple commands. Sit. Stay. Come."

Andrew seems to consider saying something for a moment, but ultimately elects not to bother.

"Where is the leash?"

"Troy— Leash," Kevin says; the dog leaps out of his bed and stands in the doorway, tail wagging. "He'll show you."

Andrew's expression turns to extreme skepticism.

"Impeccably trained," Kevin repeats, but Andrew looks even less pleased at that.

"That," he says, "Is depressing."

He steps away from Kevin and the case, sinking his hand into the fur at the back of the dog's neck.

He doesn't even have to bend to do it, and there's something endearing about that.

"Come along, Odysseus," Andrew says, so Kevin balls up a pair of socks and throws it at him.

Andrew bats it away without even looking, and Kevin feels a desperate throb of sadness at that— at the fact that even after all these years, he still has the skills.

He knows better than to comment on that, but he can't help from complaining about the name.

"You're going to give him an identity crisis."

"Maybe I should put a Foxes collar on him and see if I can get him to switch sides entirely," Andrew says, and Kevin sees a brief flash of a sharp smile before he turns away and disappears up the hall along with the dog.

Once he hears the door shut behind them, he sits down beside the case, knees tucked to his chest.

There is so much going on that he doesn't know how to deal with it— the end of his career, making decisions for his future, the prospect of returning to his mother's home town... These are things he has put aside for _years_ , and now they are all bearing down on him when he cannot play and he cannot drink, and those are the only coping mechanisms he has ever known.

On top of that, there's everything with Andrew: back in his life, for the first time in ten years. An unexpected blessing, but the source of another stress, too, because Kevin has to try to re-shape their bond without Exy underpinning it. In order to do that, he has to decide what it is he wants out of it, and in order to do _that_ , he has to try to work out what it is he feels for Andrew.

It's a surprise, how easily he's slid back into the groove of their old relationship: petty snipingoverlaying trust, unsubtle attempts to nudge the other in various directions, affection and annoyance married up and bound too tightly together for either to ever gain the advantage— These are the things that got them through three and a half years together as roommates and quasi-friends, as protector and protected, as offence and defence. It's comfortable and familiar and easy, and there are parts of it that are even... Fun. Necessary. Welcome.

But it's not enough.

It wasn't enough in college, otherwise Andrew wouldn't have walked away, wouldn't have left Kevin alone on a rooftop; otherwise Kevin wouldn't have let Andrew disappear off his radar for ten years, wouldn't have held his tongue when there were things he'd wanted to say.

Does he want to stay them still?

He's not sure.

He thinks he should at least be angry, because it's been ten years —ten _years_!— since Andrew Minyard walked out of his life, and now he has walked back in as if they can just pick up exactly where they left off. That's a hell of a presumption, but instead of anger, the only thing Kevin feels is relief.

He's relieved he doesn't have to face the future alone, relieved Andrew has a plan for them, relieved to have someone around that he can trust.

Most of all, though, he's just relieved to have Andrew back: everything from his voice to his cigarettes to his terrible attitude is a comfort. It's not just having someone around, it's having _Andrew_ around, specifically.

The truth is, Kevin has missed him.

He's annoyed with himself for it, for keeping some part of his heart and his life open for the day that Andrew would come back to him, but there is no avoiding that truth now: on some level, he has been waiting for this ever since the night Andrew walked away from him on the roof of the Tower.

The only real question is whether or not Andrew has been waiting, too.

How long has he been planning this— or did he plan it at all? Did he hear the news about Kevin's retirement, and decide to come out here then? Or has he been waiting for this day for years, waiting for a time when Kevin would need him again like he had back at PSU?

Has there always been some part of him that hadn't been able to close the door on them, just like there was for Kevin?

He'd be less annoyed with himself if he knew it was mutual, but he supposes it doesn't really matter. Regardless of how long he's been planning this —whether it was a whim on learning what was happening or something he's been wanting to do since Kevin left Palmetto—Andrew _did_ come.

Andrew came because he knew Kevin would have a space for him still... And because _he_ still had a space for Kevin. If he hadn't —if he'd had friends and a partner and a job he cared about, if he'd had a _life_ — he wouldn't have been able to drop everything and come running, just like that. 

So maybe it doesn't even matter if Andrew planned this or if he just couldn't help himself when he realised Kevin would need him, because he still came.

He still came, which means that he still cares.

That's the only thing that counts.

Kevin's nearly finished his packing by the time Andrew returns with the dog; Troy bounds into the room ahead of him and runs around for a while before Kevin points to his dogbed.

"Sit."

He does, curling up and laying his head on his paws— he looks tired, actually, so Kevin checks his watch. To his surprise, he finds that Andrew was gone for over an hour.

"Good boy, Cereberus," he says, breezing past Troy and coming to sit on the bed beside Kevin.

"I told you not to call him that sort of thing."

"Who says I was talking to the dog?"

Kevin rolls his eyes at that.

"If I had three heads, I'd complain more. Is that really what you want?"

Andrew seems to consider this prospect for a while before realising Kevin has him there. He shrugs, turning his attention to the suitcase.

"Imagine how many more ties you would need, too."

Kevin can't help the soft huff of laughter which slips out at that.

"True." He casts Andrew a sideways look. "And anyway— if one of us is a guard dog, it's not me."

Andrew stills at that, dark gaze trained on Kevin.

"It has been a long time since anyone called me that."

"Did you miss it?"

Andrew side-steps the question entirely.

"Did you miss needing protection?"

"I missed you," Kevin says, and there it is: out in the open at last.

Andrew continues to look at him with an unreadable expression, then reaches out to knot his fingers in the material of Kevin's sleeve.

"You knew where I was."

"And _you_ knew where _I_ was. You were the one who walked away, Andrew."

"And you know why."

Kevin just stares at him, trying and failing both to read his expression and to know what he means.

"I don't," he says at last.

Andrew shakes his hand free as he stands up from the bed.

"I do not know why your stupidity continues to surprise me," he sighs, and although his expression is as inscrutable as ever, Kevin can't help feeling a sense of _disappointment_ coming from him. "Finish packing; our flight is at two, and it still takes you hours to get up in the morning."

Kevin's not sure what he missed, but it doesn't seem to have altered Andrew's intentions any.

"What about you?"

Andrew shrugs.

"I did not unpack much."

"Fine," Kevin sighs. "You can organise dinner, then."

Andrew's smile is unnerving and comforting all at the same time.

"No complaints later if you do not like my choices," he says, then slips out of the room, pausing briefly to pat Troy as he goes.

The dog whines when he leaves, and Kevin rolls his eyes.

"Don't worry— he's not going anywhere."

As he finishes up, he contemplates what Andrew had said— _You know why_.

Only he doesn't. He doesn't know why. In fact, he doesn't have a fucking clue. Maybe Andrew will tell him when they're away, or maybe Kevin will be able to figure it out before then, or maybe they will reach some happy compromise somewhere between the two.

Maybe Kevin will be able to say more than _I missed you_ , maybe he'll be able to say _I should never have let you leave_ , maybe he can say _I won't let you go again_ , or maybe he will even manage something shorter and neater which would encompass all three, something he wanted to say ten years ago on a rooftop, even if he couldn't make himself speak the words.

Does he want to say them still?

 _Yes_. He does. Kevin knows that now, and there's no point in trying to deny it. He still wants to say all the things he wanted to say then, and more besides.

He's not quite ready to do it yet (and he suspects Andrew isn't ready to hear it yet, either), but this time around, it's only a matter of time.

There's something about the acceptance of it that makes him feel infinitely better.

Troy picks his ears up just as Kevin hears a crash and swearing from the bedroom next door.

"Andrew?"

There's no answer, just more banging and swearing, so Kevin collects his dog and goes to see what the commotion is— though if he's still making noise in there, it can't be all that bad.

He's not really worried. In fact, for the first time in a long time, he's not worried at all.

Andrew is back.

Everything else, they can figure out along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it— the end of Kandrew week. Between that and the blizzard, I nearly died, but hey: at least I got some cute fics written?
> 
> Back to working on prompts and the roadtrip fic from here on out! 
> 
> I forgot to say it before in the notes for this fic, but you can find me on Tumblr [@onlycareaboutexy](https://onlycareaboutexy.tumblr.com/). Please feel free to stop by and and say hi any time! ❤️


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